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usedtobecooler · 2 years

Note

okay but what about virgin eddie being eager to please and the reader showing him the ropes and he’s just naturally so good at it :( i need it :(

oh anon what are you doing to me!

part one // part two // part three // part four

Pairing | Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), fingering f receiving, cumming in pants, corruption kink, reader really likes that eddie is a virgin, car sex, dubious content (i think? reader rubs up against him without consent?), dirty talk, lots of eddie being called pretty and handsome!!

Word Count | 2.8K

A/N | i really took this and ran with it, god damn!! virgin!eddie just does things to me the boy is SO corruptible. i need help, jesus and a nap after this.

You sort of knew he was at least inexperienced from the get go. You'd met working at the local record store and doing the late shifts together. You never missed the way he'd get so flustered any time you'd pay him a compliment.

'Eddie you look so nice today', 'wow Eddie you should wear your hair up more often it looks good', or when you'd greet him with a 'hey handsome' or 'hey pretty boy' and he'd stumble over his words and go beet red. You could tell he didn't really get chicks, it was obvious by the way that all he could talk about on Monday mornings were his D&D campaigns that he played with literal sophomores.

Twenty year olds who barely skim by to graduate after their third year repeat of senior year didn't get babes. He knew that, you knew that. But you were so attracted to him anyway, you got a sick thrill out of how easy it was to panic him and make him blush.

You gave Eddie a ride home from work every night, the trailer park was a fair few miles from the shop and his van went bust a few months prior so it was sat like an antique with grass growing around it just outside his front door. Wayne made a point of complaining about it a lot when you were in earshot.

'Either fix the damn thing or get the piece of crap towed away. I know we live in a trailer park but we sure as shit ain't tramps.'

So yeah. He wasn't necessarily a lady killer but he was just so pretty to look at and it made your stomach do funny jumps. He was so passionate too, he could talk for hours about his guitar or Lord of the Rings and he remembered every little detail. Soaked in everything you'd ever say and remember it for next time.

So sue you. You liked Eddie 'the freak' Munson who was just the sweetest, prettiest boy you'd ever met. And you needed to corrupt him.

You were subtle to begin with. When you'd shuffle by him in the store you'd make sure to get as close to him as possible as if the space was just too tight for anymore room. You'd lay a hand on his waist to brush past, lightly dance your fingers on his shoulder. 'Whoops, sorry' you'd say when your ass would brush past his dick, you'd pretend not to notice his flustered look and his stumbling words.

It all came to a head on one Saturday night as you were driving Eddie home. Dio's Holy Diver playing as background noise. You bonded over your love of the same bands too, you'd occasionally catch his eyes go all gooey when you'd talk about Metallica. You couldn't help but notice the ways his eyes would wander over your chest, where a band shirt would usually be sitting. The way he'd look at your legs in your fishnets and tight skirts. Stutter when you'd catch him and give him a wink.

But anyway, this particular Saturday you'd asked if he wanted to go to a fast food joint for some burgers before going home. You were, admittedly, starving after bailing on lunch in favour of helping Eddie with the new shipment of vinyl that had came in.

Eddie was a gentleman, offering to pay for the burgers since you'd been driving him home and who were you to refuse a free meal. He took them to go so you could drive to a place somewhere quiet and eat in silence.

You drove up to a spot you went to occasionally when you needed some time to sit and relax on your own. It was essentially an old junk yard full of shitty banger cars but nobody ever came out here and it was nice for watching the stars on a clear night.

You eat your burgers mostly in silence, both of you chomping down like you hadn't eaten in days. You're sat in a silky leopard print skirt, fishnets all torn around your inner thighs from them rubbing together all day. You sit really unladylike, legs open and comfortable.

You catch Eddie peaking again.

"Eddie, sweetheart, its only a pair of thighs." You say quietly, breaking the comfortable silence in favour of embarrassing him, "You see them everyday."

Eddie flusters a little, mouth still full of burger but he stops chewing and goes bright red, floundering for words, "S-sorry, uh, fuck I can't help but look. Your tights are all torn." He points out, motioning towards the large holes.

"Babe, you can't honestly tell me that's the reason you were looking," You say, balling up your fast food paper and tossing it in the back without looking, "you're trying to catch a glimpse of my princess parts."

A laugh bubbles out of your mouth at the use of those words, only using them to tease Eddie and his seemingly virginal ways. Worried if you call it a pussy he'll open the door and flee.

"Uh, eh, I wouldn't know much about that," Eddie cringes at his own words, he can't even look at you and it's just so endearing, "I can't say I've ever seen one."

You gawp a little bit. Taken aback by his confession.

"What do you mean, Eddie?" You ask, the teasing way in your voice only coming out just a smidge now, "You've never...?"

"God, don't make me say it, sweetheart," Eddie grimaces, tossing the last of his burger on the dashboard, hunger long forgotten at the embarrassing conversation, "I'm a twenty year old virgin. Laugh all you want, you should."

"I'm not gonna laugh," You say, all too quickly, "I just can't believe no girl, or guy maybe, has ever pinned you down and just ridden the shit out of you. You're really hot, Eddie. I mean, really hot."

Eddie's cheeks flush so dark they're almost purple and suddenly he's shuffling awkwardly in his seat next to you, like he's trying to cover himself from you.

"Hey pretty boy," Your voice is barely above a whisper now, you lean over and tug at his arm to get him to turn to you again, "I find that kinda... hot."

Eddie scoffs at that but lets you move his arm, your fingers beginning to dance down it, edging closer to his wrist, "Yeah, right. You don't have to lie to me I know it's ridiculous. Who the fuck is still a virgin at this age unless it's by choice?"

"Means you're all kinds of corruptible, handsome." You're not teasing anymore, bringing your hand further down to drag your fingers over his knuckles, "Makes me kinda hot and bothered."

"Oh, oh right," Eddie sucks in a breath and shudders, Jesus Christ this guy has no game and it's so fucking cute you're about to burst. Your cunt is twitching already just thinking about ruining him.

"Maybe I could show you the ropes? Y'know? How to touch a girl an' get her going?" You suggest, and you can see the goosebumps littering Eddie's arms, "Obviously so that when you find a girl you really like you can wow her."

A strangled little noise caught between a whimper and a sigh escapes Eddie's lips, his head thumps back against the headrest on his seat, displaying his gorgeous expanse of neck, the veins protruding in ways you can't ignore. Admittedly, he's already got you going without even having to touch you, and you know now that you're fucked.

"You gotta say yes or no, handsome. Just so I know you're into this and I'm not adding two plus two and getting five," Your voice is gentle as you finally grip hold of Eddie's wrist gently, dragging it over to rest on your inner thigh. His fingers flex on the skin, gripping ever so slightly, making you exhale a shaky little moan.

"I, uh, I would like to. But I'm gonna be shit, no point denying it," Eddie barks out a little sarcastic laugh, his brows furrowing together.

"Oh, honey," You giggle, "you're a guitar player. Those fingers already know what to do without me having to show them. I'll just tell you what to do, where to press, how fast I like it, how hard. Can you listen to me and do that?"

You chance a glance down at his crotch and can see the thick outline of his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. Your mouth practically starts salivating, already eager to know just exactly how it looks. In your daydreams it was big, but looking now in the dim light at his concealed erection, it was obvious just how big it truly was.

You get up from your seat, shuffling a little so you can swing a leg over and perch yourself in Eddie's lap, gasping a little when you sink down just enough to rub your cunt along his hardness. Eddie bites down on his lip, a strangled, breathy moan leaving him.

"This okay?" You ask, just to make sure, and he's nodding so fast he could get whiplash. You take ahold of Eddie's right hand again, sliding it under your skirt to let his palm rest lightly over your pussy, letting him feel the heat and the damp patch that's formed in your cotton panties so quickly, "You've done this to me already and you haven't even touched me yet."

"Really? Shit," Eddie looks up at you with wide brown eyes, like a deer caught in headlights. He's so eager, letting his fingers run over your clothed folds, dipping a finger in between experimentally and smiling a little when you moan, "Can I, uh, can I move your panties out of the way?"

"Go for it, handsome. Get a good feel." You're back to smirking again, but not for long when Eddie hooks two fingers into the elastic of your panties and pull them to the side, exposing your puffy little cunt to the cold air. You gasp when two hot fingers rub between your lips, catching on your clit just barely, "Okay, can you find where my clit is?"

Eddie nods eagerly, running his fingers back up and pressing on that little hard bundle of nerves, his cock twitching at the feeling of your slick in between his fingers, "There, right?" He asks, just to make sure, but it's obvious by the way you bite your lip and whine.

"Yes there, fuck, Eddie if you do good for me this really isn't gonna last long," You admit, throwing your head back a little, "just rub me there in small circles, I like it fast."

Eddie's fingers start to almost expertly rub you in circular motions, his calloused fingertips catching and dragging your clit in the most delicious way. You turn into a whining mess quite quickly, especially when his free hand comes up to grab at the meat of your thigh to hold you in place.

"God, handsome, you're really good at this, uh," You choke on your own tongue when he speeds up a little, "wanna use that free hand and slip your fingers in me?"

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, glossy eyes dancing a little, "you sure?"

You nod excitedly, knees buckling a little when you feel his hand come up under your skirt, the pads of two fingers swirling around your entrance. You can't believe he's never done this before, you half expected him to not even know where your hole was never mind anything else. He looks into your eyes, raising his brows a little in a silent question and you nod again.

Eddie sinks his fingers in all the way to the hilt immediately and it makes you gasp, the breach unexpected but certainly not unpleasant. A nice stretch, the cold of his thick rings on the rim of your cunt making you shiver, "Pump them in and out of me and try to find a, Jesus, a rhythm that matches your fingers on my clit."

"Does this feel good?" Eddie asks, and it's clearly meant to be in earnest but it sends hot flushes all up your spine, his long fingers beginning to pump in and out of you slowly.

"God, yeah, yeah it does, Eddie." You whine, hips having a mind of their own and helping him with the process, helping his fingers sink in and out, "Crook them a lil, you'll find a soft spot, kinda feels like a sponge."

Eddie's brows furrow together, his fingers starting to falter both inside of you and on your clit as he tries to find a rhythm. It comes back to him quickly, both of his fingers sunk deep in your cunt crooking ever so slightly and finding your gspot almost immediately.

You choke out a moan that sounds wet, like you're about to cry, "Fuck, right there, handsome. Keep doing that, m'gonna cum."

His fingers are heavenly dancing inside of you. His assault on your clit is hard and fast and soon enough you're so wet that you can feel it running out of you, probably slicking Eddie's hand, wrist and arm with creamy slick, "How does it feel for you, Eddie?"

You're looking at each other and the lust is apparent in Eddie's face, the way his brown doe eyes are hazily watching you, "Feels so good. Your pussy feels like heaven on my fingers, you're so tight."

"Fuck, dirty talking already are we?" You almost squeal, a hot flush taking over your whole body as you chase your orgasm, "Love hearing dirty words coming from your mouth about me, keep going."

Eddie leans forward, hot mouth kissing and sucking wetly at your tits, your collarbones, your neck, "Y'like that? Like my fingers in you? You're whining like a little slut."

You fucking lose it at being called a slut, the mixture of his hands, his mouth and the obscene slicking sounds coming from your cunt have your legs buckling, your stomach twisting as you reach your high, cumming so hard that your pussy constricts and grips at Eddie's fingers tightly, a loud moan slipping from your mouth, hands automatically coming up to grip at his curls as your hips fuck back and forth, riding out your orgasm.

You're sensitive, shivering a little as Eddie rubs you through the last of it, so you rest a gentle hand on his wrist to let him know to stop. He stops immediately, long fingers sliding out of your cunt slowly as not to startle you.

"Was - was that okay?" He asks, looking at you again with those gorgeous, stupid doe eyes, the nervousness back and apparent in his voice. You're all orgasm stupid, barely able to keep your eyes open, so you lean forward and smash your lips onto his, greedily lapping your way into his mouth with your tongue as a way of confirming it was good.

Eddie's big hands come to encircle around your waist, deepening the kiss. So, okay, he's not the best kisser just yet but you can show him that too. It's sloppy and wet and everything you need right this second.

Your hips begin to rub along the length of Eddie's still painfully hard cock straining in his pants, you put down enough weight to grind perfectly against him, your sensitive clit loving the friction of the thick denim running against it.

"Wha-" Eddie pulls away from your lips, confusion on his face turning to ecstasy, a moan escaping him. Fuck, he's so loud it's making you flutter.

"Was gonna try an' get a hand on your cock but that can be for another day," You hum, hips still gliding back and forth roughly, "wanna see you cum in your pants, though."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you have no idea what you're - uh, god - what you're doing to me," Eddie's whimpering, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, matting down his fringe, "m'gonna cum, shit, shit, I'm cumming."

You watch every bit of it, the way the veins in his neck pop, his eyes squeezing shut as he vibrates against you, fingers squeezing you so hard it'll bruise. Fuck, he's so pretty you want to die, you can't believe you're the first person to make him cum and you didn't even have to lay a hand on him.

When Eddie eventually opens his eyes, the blush is back on his cheeks, as if he's mortified by what he just did, "Damn, twenty years old and I just came in my pants like a teenager."

"It was hot, pretty boy," you sigh, leaning down to peck his lips, "I'll get a hand on you soon though, I need that thick cock everywhere on me."

He whines at that, hips bucking up of their own accord, "Fuck, you dunno what you're doing to me, sweetheart."

"Corrupting you, Eds. And you're gonna love every fucking minute."

#ha fuck i cant stop imagining corrupting virgin!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #stranger things #my fanfic #mine #smut #x reader #fem reader #stranger things imagine #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn smut #virgin!eddie #virgin!eddie munson

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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 2 months

Text

Lovers

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (y/n)

Warnings: smut!!, cheating

the background of the story: a few months ago you decided to visit your friend Sophie who lives in Monaco. Sophie has been in a relationship with Carlos for a while, and his teammate Charles is in a relationship with a girl (Ava) who isn't with him for the right reasons and doesn't really care about him. due to a combination of circumstances, you stayed in Monaco to live in Sophie's apartment and started running social networks for Ferrari, filming behind the scenes and similar things. From the very beginning, you and Charles have a love-hate relationship. He keeps sending you mixed signals and you never know where you're standing with him. A few weeks before you locked yourself out of the apartment, you shared a kiss that you couldn't stop thinking about…and neither could he.

Y/n's POV

After about half an hour of waiting in front of the locked door, the elevator opens and the eagerly awaited Charles steps out. Of course he had to be the one to come and 'save' me because who else would it be? Our relationship has not changed much in these months. Somehow I also accepted that that kiss happened once and that was it. After all he is taken so I forced myself to stop thinking about him entirely.

As he steps out of the elevator, at first he doesn't say anything but just smirks at me.

"Please, just don't say anything." I say as he comes in front of me pulling out the keys from the pocket of his jeans. He was looking as handsome as always wearing a simple white oversized t-shirt and light washed baggy jeans. No one could ever pull off rings, bracelets and sunglasses the way he does with his perfectly messy curls.

"Y/n." He says putting the key into the lock. "Wasn't going to." As the door finally opens I see smoke coming from the kitchen. My lasagna..

"No, no, no, no!" Horrified and worried, I start repeating, running towards the kitchen, begging God that I didn't set someone else's kitchen on fire and that only the lasagna was harmed.

"What is happening?" Charles runs after me.

"Oh thank God.." I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that nothing is burning in the kitchen except for my lasagna, which turned completely black.

"What exactly are you thanking God for?" He asked mockingly, watching me take the tray of unrecognizable lasagna out of the oven.

"I'm thanking Him for not accidentally setting this whole apartment on fire."

"You're a real danger Y/N." He laughs leaning over the counter. "Like in every possible way." And I join him. I feel like I'm in love with these so beautiful and yet so rare moments of laughter with Charles.

"Thank you for coming here with the keys. I really don't know how else I'd manage to enter the apartment since Sophie and Carlos are in Madrid."

"That lasagna would be a nice thank you for having to come here, but since you're such a great cook.." He mocks again, but I don't mind it.

"Oh stop it!" I wave my hand and open the fridge to see what's left in there. "Well, I don't have anything else left to offer you except beer?"

"I'll take it."

One beer for me, one for him, one for him, one for me, and then again one for him, one for me and so the hours went by without even realizing that it was already dark outside. We were sitting on the floor on the carpet in front of the couch. The TV was on, but we got into talking so much that no one paid attention to it.

"I still can't believe Carlos and Sophie are getting married." Charles says taking another sip from the bottle.

"I personally think it's a bit too fast 'cause they've been together for only like a year, but if they feel like that's it, then I'm all for it. He's head over heels for her."

"Yeah, I guess when you know you know."

"Besides, it's perfect timing since she's pregnant with him so-"

"What?!" At that moment I realize that my tongue works faster than my mind and I pour out Sophie's secret to Charles.

"Oh no no! Forget it please!" I don't know what was I trying to achieve with this? Maybe erase his memory?

"Sophie's pregnant? Carlos is going to be a dad?!" He asks unable to wrap his mind around the fact.

"Yes, yes they're having a baby, but please be quiet about it because literally no one knows but me. Carlos is just about to find out."

"Oh my God..I can't believe it." I notice that his face drops a bit. He doesn't seem all that excited about the rather exciting news. After all Carlos is his best friend. Or at least one of them.

"What?" I ask. "Aren't you excited for him?"

"I am, of course. But it just got me thinking how so much good things is happening to him - he's getting podiums, every weekend he gets better and better, he's getting married, now excepting a child and then I'm over here feeling like I'm fucking stuck in a place..I don't know." This is the first time that after 3 and a half months of knowing Charles he is showing his vulnerable side. He is finally opening up to me and we're finally having a meaningful conversation.

"Why are you feeling stuck in a place?"

"I don't know how to explain it. Nothing's pushing me forward, I feel empty. I feel like I'm waiting on something, but it's not coming." I'm trying to read between the lines what he is trying to tell with this, but unsuccessfully. "I'm fucking struggling."

"Charles.." I listen to him with a heavy heart and wish to hug him and wipe the sadness away. "I'm sorry that you feel this way. What about Ava? Shouldn't she be your motivation?"

"She should be my motivation." He says with a sneer. "Except that's not the case. I once wanted her to be the one to push me forward, but now I'm not even sure if I want it to be her. She's never fucking there and I got tired." I remember when Lando said that he's never talking about his relationship with them and yet here he is talking about it to me, almost a stranger to him, even though it's obviously painful for him to share his feelings.

"If the relationship no longer makes you happy and fulfilled, then why not put an end to it?" I honestly ask him dying to know his answer.

"It's not as simple as it seems. She's Ava Wolff." He says taking a look at my eyes. "And I would like to change the subject now."

"Okay." I decide not to push it. The time will come when he will say that too. "But, just so you know I like you tonight." I say trying to light up the mood and succeed when he chuckles.

"Really? Well I guess better late than never. But, just so you know I've liked you since the Monaco GP." He says and starts playing with the red bracelet I gave him that day for good luck remembering how devastated he was that day because he didn't perform well and his girlfriend wasn't even there at his home race.

I start to stir in place from his words trying to hide the fact that he made me blush. He notices it anyway and pulls himself closer to me.

"Why are you so nervous?" He asks calmly looking straight at me as I tried to look anywhere but his mesmerizing green eyes.

"I'm not." I say quite softly and uncertainly. He scoots even closer to me, so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on the skin of m neck. He is facing me while I am facing the TV. My heart is beating so harsh I can feel it pounding against my rib cage.

"Y/n.."

"Hm?"

"I've been trying really hard to forget about it," He says, referring to the kiss we shared, as he moves a strand of my hair behind my ear and keeps his palm on my cheek. "I just can't seem to." Before I can even think of anything to say, our eyelids slightly start closing and our lips meet.

At that moment everything becomes less important, neither of us breaks the kiss, we decide to save the "this is wrong" and "we shouldn't, we have to stop" for later.

He kissed me so delicately, his lips softly brushed mine. He was so careful caressing my cheek with his thumb and the kiss was so tender leaving me wanting more.

"Charles.." I breathe out whispering.

"Don't overthink this, please. I'm dying to kiss you over and over again." His words were enough to erase any doubt in me whether I wanted this or not. They got me hooked eagerly wanting more of whatever this was. Once the kiss turned from gentle to passionate, then firmer and more determined, I knew I desperately needed him in every way that there is.

"I want you." I was trying to refrain from moaning since he hasn't even touched me properly yet and I was already a mess.

"You have me so easily. Come here." He pulls me into his lap so I straddle him without breaking the kiss. I worked my mouth against his while his hands were roaming my body under my oversized t-shirt. Once he reached the bra clasp he stopped for a second to take a look at my eyes asking for permission to remove it.

"Take it off." I whisper and seconds later the bra was thrown to the side. With one hand he cupped my breast and with the other he pulled me down making me grind on his stiffened crotch. He threw his head back groaning as I pressed myself against him.

"Fuck, take these off." He says tugging at the hem of my shorts. I obediently do as he orders, taking my t-shirt off along the way and in a matter of seconds I'm sitting in his lap only in my panties completely revealing myself to him. He takes a second to admire my naked body with hungry eyes and slightly parted lips eyeing me up and down.

"You're so beautiful, fuck." My heart flutters at his sweet comment even though I didn't want him to be sweet-talking to me. I wanted him to tell me how much he wanted me, what he would do to me, and how he wanted to have me.

His hand found its way to my panties rubbing me over them feeling the now already damp lace fabric. "You're soaking, is this for me? Have I made you feel this wet?" He wasn't even trying to hide the smug on his face. I gasp at his words and his touch, but he wanted to hear me. "Answer me."

"It's all for you." He pulls my panties aside and starts rubbing small and slow torturous circles on my clit.

"This isn't the first time that you're wet for me now is it?" He murmurs against my lips and I gulp panting. "I know it isn't. I know you've been thinking about me." He glides his fingers over my wet folds up and down before he slips his middle finger inside me. I wince at the the coldness of his finger, but soon start moving my hips against his hand.

"Look at you.. So hot, so eager for me. I've been getting hard thinking about you and your innocent lips wrapped around me even though they're anything but innocent." He slips another finger inside me and I almost finish right away at the profanities that he's telling against my skin. I start to unbutton his pants while he takes of his shirt. He lifts himself up on the couch and I stay down on my knees between his legs. I pull his boxers down his legs revealing the long shaft that sprung off his hitting his lower stomach. I decided to tease him a little and start working my tongue everywhere but the tip where he needed me the most. Once again he throws his head back in pleasure desperate for my touch around him and I enjoy every second of listening him moaning my name. I lick his balls and gently dig my nails into the skin of his thighs. He tries to grab himself, but I stop his hand and put it back on the side.

"Wrap your lips around me, you're driving me insane." I smirk as I see him on almost begging for me. It doesn't take long until I do ad he pleases taking his shaft and giving it a few strokes before I start bobbing my head up and down paying special attention to his aching red tip.

"You're taking it so well for me, so fucking beautiful." His words are prompting while he's moving hair out of my face and collecting it into a ponytail so he can lead my head. I continue doing what I was fastening my pace until he stops me taking my chin between his fingers.

"I don't wanna cum like this and if you continue I sure fucking will. I need to feel you around me. Do you want me to fuck you, hm?"

"Yes, Charles fuck I do." I pant as the aching feeling between my legs rises. He pulls me up by my elbows and I straddle him again as he pulls me again for another long kiss his tongue fiercely wrestling mine. He takes his shaft into his hand prepping it a bit before positioning it on my center. I don't wait for him to pull me down on him, I do it myself rolling my hips against him at first slowly so I can adjust to his length and enjoy every second of the feeling of him inside of me.

"Yes baby ride me, you're so good for me. You do it so good." Butterflies errupt in my stomach at him calling me baby. His thumb brushes over my lower lip and I hold onto his hand. His other hand slides down to rub circles on my clit again and I feel my legs starting to shake.

"Oh Charles, Charles.." I cry out his name clenching around him.

"Eyes on me." He lifts up my chin making me look him in the eyes while I come undone around him and he starts working his hips upwards wanting to prolong my climax. I try to squirm away as the excessive feeling of pleasure overwhelms me and sensitivity takes over. Charles stops me by tightly wrapping his strong arms around me hugging me and hiding his face in the crook of my neck leaving trail of small gentle kisses.

"That's it. You're doing so well for me. Can you keep going?" I nod my head yes and he's quick to turn me over and lay me down onto the couch. He pulls himself out of me and presses himself against my stomach his lips never leaving my neck. I tug on his hair with one hand and with the other slide my nails down his back.

"Kiss me." I plead and he does so. He teases me with his tip going over my now too sensitive and wet folds.

"Will you be able to cum for me one more time?"

"I don't know.." I whisper with a trembling voice. "But I don't wanna stop." That's all it takes for him to push himself deep inside me tiredlessly working his hips in and out of me.

"You're so fucking tight." He attaches his lips to my hard nipples flicking his tongue arounf them and nibbling on them making me whine out his name.

"Charles..oh yes."

"So fucking hot hearing you moan my name." He says. "Fuck, what you do to me..Touch yourself for me."

I slide my hand between us down to my clit making quick circular movements and the sight of me touching myself drives him completely crazy it has him rolling his eyes and panting.

"Fuck, baby I'm close, I'm gonna cum." He starts moving his hips faster hitting my walls making me clench myself around him and screaming out his name as I finish one more time. Seconds later he pulls out stroking himself at fast pace and cumming all over my stomach.

Barely catching his breath he gives me a peck on the lips before falling onto me and I close my eyes playing with his locks.

Leaving Charles on the couch, I get up and head towards the bathroom. I slide down my now completely soaked panties and step inside the shower. As the lukewarm water hits my skin, I let out a deep breath and close my eyes letting myself go through all the emotions that have accumulated in me in the last few hours.

Guilt washes over me because I don't feel guilty and because I know I'd do this all over again with him. I have never before experienced something so passionate, sensual, exciting and satisfying, something that left me wanting more of him. I find myself smiling thinking about him and what we just did, but even though i don't want to let myself expect anything, I forgive myself this time because i'm still under the impression of him tightly gripping my body, kissing me all over my neck and calling me 'baby'.

I hear the sound of the shower door opening and soon Charles' hands are resting on my waist and his lips are pressing against my shoulder. I smile tilting my head to the side.

"You're washing me off yourself already?"

"I was hoping you'd come." I turn to face him wrapping my arms around his neck. He leans in to kiss me only this time slowly and gently. "Can I ask you something?" I ask and he nods. "Are you drunk?" He chuckles at my somewhat funny question. It was clear to me that he couldn't get drunk from 3 cans of beer, I just wanted to check how aware he was of our actions. I wanted to get out of him how he felt about this, I wanted him to tell me something, even though at the same time I was afraid of what I would hear. I didn't want anything to ruin these moments, even though I was very curious and impatient.

"Drunk off of you only." I blush leaning my head into the crook of his neck, but he sensed what I was getting at. "Let's not think about anything and enjoy the moment, okay?" He presses a kiss to my forehead and I feel relieved although on the verge of overthinking this.

"Are you tired?" He asks quietly against the skin of my neck.

"A little bit." I gasp letting my eyes close. "Why?" Just as I asked the question, I felt him slowly pressing himself against me.

"Because I can't get enough of you." His tonuge slides over my bottom lip asking for permission and I let him in without any hesitation. "I want to hear you moan my name again." He says into my ear abruptly turning me around and pressing me against the shower wall. He pushes himself inside of me and starts thrusting in and out again further and further.

"Charles.." The slapping of our wet skin echoed throughout the bathroom.

"How are you so tight, fuck.." His pace picked up and I could feel both of us were close. "I'm close baby, I'm not gonna last long."

My back was arched and I held onto the glass with my palms. Soon my legs started shaking and his hips stuttering against me as we both finished at the same time. The moans filled the small space inside the shower as we were coming down from our highs. I was so weak, the strength in my legs long gone I would've fallen down if he hadn't held me.

"Are you okay? Talk to me." He asks gently caressing my cheek.

"I am." I smile assuring him with a kiss. "Let's take a shower and go to bed okay?"

"Okay."

After we showered and dried off with towels, we went to my room and got into bed. Neither of us said anything, he just pulled me close and held me tight around the waist as if I was going to run away any second. There wasn't even any need to say anything. Being in his arms, feeling his breathing on my skin felt so safe, so intimate that I wished this would never end.

#charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #carlos sainz fluff #f1 fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando norris

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keulixeutin · 2 years

Text

Lovelorn & Laughable

a/n: tried something more casual and shorter.

summary: it’s laughable that your friends think that bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you. bakugou x gn!reader.

cw: fluff. established relationship. mentions of drunkenness and alcohol. mentions of friends being afraid that reader is in an abusive relationship (they're not). gender neutral pronouns used.

wc: 986.

You’ve been dating Bakugou for eight months, and your relationship with the infamous explosive hero is a confusing case among your friends.

However, you don’t know how confused they are until Uraraka pulls you aside one day to ask if you’re okay—read: to ask if you’re safe.

You almost laugh in her face, but you’re able to keep it together in front of her honest expression. It’s surprising how little they know, and it’s hilarious how wrong they are (which is wild to you, because aren’t they close with Midoriya who considers him one of his closest friends?).

It’s laughable that they think Bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you.

Bakugou, who gives you his credit card three months into the relationship.

Bakugou, who changes his phone background weekly because he can’t decide on one favorite picture of you.

Bakugou, who searches for your hand to hold even in his sleep, who jerks awake whenever he feels you shift too far away in bed, whose frantic fingers search the sheets for you in his half-sleep.

That Bakugou. Right.

Though you have enough self control to not laugh, you do let out a wicked snort. You tell her to watch carefully next time you’re all together, and even when she tries to tell you that she has been, you shake your head and repeat it—watch carefully.

At the next group outing at a pop-up carnival, you arrive arm-in-arm with Ashido, Bakugou following close behind. Midoriya’s the only one who eagerly greets your boyfriend, though you wouldn’t say the others give an unkind welcome. You grin at the ones you know are worried—Asui, Iida, and Uraraka—though they don’t find this as funny as you do.

Watch close, you mouth to them.

And they do.

At first, they think you’ve got some mild form of Stockholm Syndrome; they think that you must be used to trauma and that you can’t tell your relationship is a bomb ready to go off. All they can see are his scowls and shouts. All they can see is the angry child who grew bigger, stronger, and more powerful than he was a decade ago, a man who must be utilizing all of his strength and anger to keep you trapped.

Watch, you tell them again when they try to pull at you for a quick intervention.

They’re still doubtful, but for you, they try again.

This time, they see things—they see Bakugou, maybe not the way you do, but different than how they used to.

They see how his shoulders always touch yours when he’s seated, how he accompanies you to the food stall so he can pull his wallet out, how he always glances back to see where you’re at as you linger at each stand. They see him scowl with cheeks colored pink as you fix his hair in the whipping wind. They see him lean into your ear and whisper something that makes you laugh as he points to an ugly pig plush prize. They seem him pull you away from the group and sneak off into the crowd when he thinks no one’s watching.

Still not fully convinced, they finally approach Ashido about your relationship, about whether or not you’re truly safe and loved. She’s first taken aback because she thinks they’re making a dumb joke. Then, when she sees that they’re genuinely concerned, she doubles over in laughter, cackling so hard and so loud that there are hot tears in her eyes and painful cramps in her stomach. She gasps out in between giggling and snorting about how incredible it is that they could believe something so obviously impossible, ignoring their expressions of irritation and shame.

Well, Bakugou doesn’t drink around you guys, so that’d probably help, huh, she says when she’s finally calmed down, wiping at her eyes. At their confusion, she explains that he’s needy when he’s drunk. I’ll give you a sneak peek, she smiles conspiratorially.

Pulling out her phone, she opens up the folder created specifically for sentimental Bakugou photos. Ashido shows them a picture of him passed out on the couch, face resting against your lap with a firm grip on your calf (This was last week when he was plastered after four drinks!), another of him with you up on his shoulders in the pool, fiery smirks on both your faces (They beat me and Denki in Chicken, ugh!), and finally, a picture of him kissing you around a corner, which was immediately followed by a blurry photo of Bakugou swinging at the camera (I don’t remember this one, actually, but this happens pretty frequently!).

Perhaps they hadn’t been watching closely after all, they think.

Ashido shows them several more photos, each with Bakugou sappier than the last, and she ends it by cooing about how cute the both of you are. She says she’s surprised that neither you nor Midoriya have shown them anything, and Midoriya stammers out something about privacy, and they mention that they hadn’t expressed their horror in full until recently.

Horror, Ashido repeats, and then it turns into another full-blown cackle in public.

When you and Bakugou make it back to the group, you take one look at your friends and grin, seemingly aware of their newfound understanding. They look back at you, abashed, but you’re too preoccupied with your bag of souvenirs and the ugly pig plush in your arms to be mad about their misconceptions. Anyways, the pig was bought, not won, and you’re excited to share the story with the others. Bakugou is on his phone again, subtly leaning against you; when Uraraka passes by behind him, she sees that he’s not scrolling through his apps but deciding a new background photo, stuck between one of you throwing the camera a kiss or laughing in the sunlight. She watches him pick one and then favorite the other one.

#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 gender neutral 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 lovelorn & laughable 」#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」#bnha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfics #mha fanfics #reader inserts #dynamight x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x gn!reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff

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saekkas · 11 months

Text

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: in a different universe, michael kaiser comes home to you, and every single hardship he's endured has meaning when you wrap your arms around him. in this one, he has only himself to blame for when his house becomes a shadow of the home he used to live in.

tags: f!reader, kissing, angst (minimal comfort), lovers to strangers, neglectance, second chances, fools gold.

wc: 1.8k

notes: inspired by an angsty ask @mirahua sent that's been plaguing my mind for the past week. also, my debut as an angst writer so pls go easy on me ಥ_ಥ and the tags kind of sort of don't make sense, forgive me for that </3

"i'm home," kaiser whispers, opening the door to his apartment only to click it shut a few seconds later, his eyes fighting to keep themselves open.

he leans against the door, taking in the wide space. everything's dark and still, there are no signs of life, as to be expected when one comes home at 4AM.

he sighs, passing by the books and empty mug you must've used earlier in the day. some of his stuff is cluttered around yours, like the small sanrio plushies he bought with you only months ago. they occupy the sofa along with your pillows, and he smiles sadly at the sight. where did the time go?

even with so many trinkets and things littered around, his house feels empty. lonely as if no one's lived in it for weeks and months. his steps falter as he enters the kitchen to find a portion of a home-cooked meal, sitting on his favorite plate. it's cold but it still glows with the warmth and love you prepared it with.

he sighs once more, rubbing his hand across his face. putting the meal into the fridge with shaky hands, kaiser's quick to drop onto one of the chairs.

he stops for a second, looking around his house, the place he's lived in for the past 3 years. something's changed within the space, like there's an object that doesn't belong between the four walls. deep in his heart, kaiser wonders if it's him.

fishing his phone from his pocket, he takes in the messages that start to trickle onto the screen. it's been on airplane mode the whole day, a habit he needs to break, you've once told him.

his thumb lingers above your contact.

scrolling through, his eyes take in every single text you've sent him dating from months back. he sees the way they started; love filled descriptions of your days mixed in with questions about his own. reading the text you've sent today, he feels a pang go through him at the lone message. good night. get home safe. nothing else.

his hand clenches around the table, sadness turning into guilt that spreads like a plague when he realizes he's barely replied back to any.

this has been his life for the last 9 months. he wakes up, leaves for practice, comes back sometime around dawn, only to repeat the next day. his muscles scream at him every second, his shoulders groaning under the weight of exhaustion. it's the price one has to pay for the fame and fortune, kaiser tells himself.

self-assured as he makes himself out to be, kaiser isn't stupid enough to leave things all to fate. he may be a star striker now, one that has everyone vying for his time and attention, but who knows what will come in the next few years.

there will always be new talent, people with incredible skills and the greed to propel them into stardom. into taking his place. he knows because he's seen it before. been it before.

as the clock sounds to signal a new hour, his vision starts to blur. everything is starting to feel foggy, his head pounding and body screaming at him for sleep. he can't quite grasp anything. not when there's a distance separating him and the world around him.

"mihya?" comes your voice, soft and slightly raspy. kaiser snaps back into focus, the ringing in his ears dulling into background noise. "you're home."

"hi, baby." you're swaying on your feet, one of his shirts around your body. he recognizes it to be one of his favorites and he almost chuckles at the sight if not for the lump that's appeared in his throat. "shouldn't you be asleep? did i wake you up? i'm sorry if i did.'"

the first thing that comes to mind is how delicate you look. as if one wrong move, one wrong word is going to push you into a shell. he takes in everything about you, starting from the messiness of your hair to the slump of your shoulders.

he hasn't seen you. hasn't had the opportunity to breathe you in like he used to. those night when he traced every single one of your features, giggling loudly with you in the dead of the night seem so far away now.

he misses it, those moments you shared from who-knows how many nights ago.

when you rub the sleep out of your eyes, looking at him with a small smile, his trance breaks. he takes in the distance between you both, like a chasm that's gaping and mocking him because he was the one who let it widen this far.

"you didn't. i just needed to pee," you say, tone just barely above a whisper. there's something floating between you two, the things unsaid. you're afraid they'll come pouring out if you break the silence. "how was practice?"

kaiser realizes, even when you're right in front of him, your presence feels like a ghost. hesitant, locked up into a small ball of a person that's only being held together by hope and love, no matter how small.

"i'm sorry i didn't reply to your text." the words pour out of him like a waterfall, blunt and bruising. i'm sorry i haven't been with you. his eyes trace your form, and he sighs, moving to engulf you into his arms. "practice was.. busy."

please don't leave. please tell me that this is enough. that i'm enough.

"it's okay. i'm used to it." your tongue slips and you sigh as he wraps around you. it feels foreign, his touch. like he's not exactly the same person he used to be, but neither are you. "i'm sorry. i didn't mean it like that."

kaiser can only clench his eyes. he leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead. "i know, it's okay. and i'm sorry."

i'm sorry i haven't been there for you. i'm sorry i haven't taken you out on another date. i'm sorry that i'm selfish and all i know is to take and take. i'm sorry that it's leaving you hollow and bruised. i'm sorry my love isn't enough.

the thoughts swirl, pinging around like warning signals going off in his head. he opens his mouth, only to close it right after. "let's go to bed."

even when the softness of his duvet embraces him, kaiser can't relax. his body stays stiff, timid as he waits for you to settle beside him. when you do, he's slow to reach out, placing a hand on your hip to test the waters.

he relaxes when you mold into his form, curling around his body as if he's never done any wrong. he presses you hard against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body.

he doesn't get to hold you like this anymore. between practice and exhaustion, whenever his head hits the pillow, he's out like a light. he misses the intimacy, the feeling of having someone beside him.

"do you think about me?" he hums, asking you the question. his hands nestle around your waist and back. he breaths in your scent, his body finally letting the coils of his muscles loose. "because it feels like i think about you every minute."

you respond in kind, caressing the hand that's nestled on your waist. you don't say anything. you don't need to, not when you let him kiss you for the first time in months.

"you know i love you right?" he whispers. there's nothing but him, him, him. you're surrounded by his presence, his touch is everywhere, and there's barely an inch between where you lay. his hair tickles your cheek, the faded blue molding into blonde. "and you know that i would never want to hurt you?"

you should know better. you wish your heart wouldn't give in so easily. you're nothing but an ordinary girl from humble backgrounds while the man wrapped around you is a shooting star that landed on your palm on a rainy summer day.

you should know better because shooting stars fade away.

"do you really?" you whisper, drained and tired out of your mind. "because you've done nothing but hurt me, mihya."

he isn't surprised by your words, but the truth stings all the same. he sighs, pressing his forehead against yours. the weight is back on his shoulders, his head starting to spin as he takes your words in.

"i promise i'll be better," he whispers back, pleading as he looks down into your eyes with tears lined in his. "why don't i take you on a date tomorrow? to that place you've been wanting to go."

"mihya," you trail off, shaking your head. "i-"

"i'll buy you flowers. i'll come home from practice early. we'll drive to the restaurant together." michael kaiser is nothing but greedy. the words that are flowing out are rushed, and his voice cracks under his own emotions. he'll say anything. he'll take and take, if it means he'll get you to stay. "you mean everything to me. i can't lose you."

you don't reply, not for a long time after. looking into his eyes, you process every bit of guilt and hope he has strewn inside. you wonder if they're enough to fix whatever's left.

"okay," you say with a hesitant nod of your head. "one last chance."

kaiser's eyes light up, brightening his whole visage.

"thank you." he kisses you, deep and passionate. there's nothing but you and him in the moment and as you fall asleep, kaiser whispers against your ear, placing gentle kisses on your cheek, wishing they'll be enough to take back every ounce of hurt he's given you. "i love you."

the next morning, kaiser leaves with a light heart and a kiss on his cheek. his steps are confident, his eyes bright. there's nothing in his head except for you and your date. he hums to himself, letting his thoughts roam about your reaction for when he surprises you with flowers when he gets home.

and yet, the universe is a cruel thing and so is his greed. kaiser loses himself in his practice, scoring goal after goal even as his phone rings. he doesn't see your texts of "mihya, don't forget our date tonight! can't wait!" "mihya, what should i wear? should we match?" "mihya it's getting late, where are you?" nor does he see the multiple missed calls you leave.

and when he gets home, soaked in rain with wilted flowers in his hand, kaiser is greeted by the sight of a truly empty house. your warm presence is gone, taking every moment of happiness with you.

he has only himself to blame for every single self-destructive habit that's led to him losing the one he calls home.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser x reader #blue lock angst #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser angst #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x y/n #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x female reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock x female reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock headcanons #kaiser angst

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julilovesyou444 · 10 months

Text

pictures of you ~ bill kaulitz

background ~ you and your boyfriend were partying at a club when someone comes up to you to return your wallet. you quickly find out that it’s not your wallet, and it is infact your boyfriend’s. what you find in there makes you love him all the more.

warnings ~ NSFW!!!, praise, sub!bill😋kinda ?, oral male recieving, mentions of drinking , a bunch of bad bad stuff😄

a/n- english isnt my first languange so if there are any mistakes I’m sorry😪 okay im ngl some English words are so weird. like what is dick ???? cock??? what kind of words are that😭 lol im sorry- also this is literally my very very first time ever writing anything like this so I definitely have room for improvement, dont flame me 🙁

I was at the club on a Saturday, with the one boy I truly loved. We had been dating for around six months, and it had been some of the best time of my life. I was dancing on the dance floor, waiting for my boyfriend to get our drinks and come back. I watched as he ordered our drinks and began to wait for the bar tender to make them. He looked so pretty. I was already a little drunk but I was able to convince Bill that I was just going to have one more drink and then be done. Our hotel was right down the street and we didn’t have any plans for tomorrow, so I figured why not.

Someone tapped my shoulder. I turned to see a girl. She looked a little high, and her makeup was so cute and glittery.

“Hey girl! I think this is your wallet.”, she yelled over the loud music, pushing the wallet into my chest, forcing me to take it. Before i could protest, she disappeared into the dancing crowd. I looked around, a little confused. I didn’t even bring my wallet, so it definitely wasn’t mine. I opened it to try and figure out whose it was. I quickly found out why she thought it was my wallet. Where there was supposed to be an I.D, there was a picture of me. I was kinda drunk so I didn’t even process what was happening. I just wondered how this person got a picture of me. I looked through the wallets, only finding some credit cards and a little bit of cash. Then I checked the last little slot and found an I.D. I pulled it out and immediately smiled. It was Bill’s. How could I be so stupid? Of course it was my boyfriend’s. I put the I.D back in and then went to pull out the picture of me to get a closer look. I soon discovered that the picture of me was not just a single picture, there were many. Pictures of me playing guitar, doing my makeup, at the beach, laughing, sleeping, dancing, etc. my heart was so full of love for him. on the back of the photos, he wrote cute little captions and the date.

“sweet girl playing in the sand 6/7”

“sleepy angel 7/10”

“could listen to her laugh on repeat 3/4”

I put all the photos back into the wallet. I couldn’t believe how incredibly sweet my boyfriend was. I wanted to give him all the love in the world because he deserved it. He was genuinely the best thing that ever happened to me. I wanted to hug and kiss him into oblivion. I loved him more than anything, and it felt the absolute best to know he loved me too. I looked up to see him approach me with our drinks and his adorable smile.

“Hey, love, I have our drinks- wait I was looking for that!! I had to use the cash in my pocket for these!”, Bill exclaimed, motioning to his wallet. His smile was so bright and it made me feel all warm inside, knowing someone as beautiful as he was loved me.

“You keep pictures of me in your wallet?”, I questioned. His smile began to fade into an embarrassed look, like I had caught him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His cheeks flushed and he looked down at his feet for a second.

“Yea.”

I gently grabbed his jaw and moved his head up to look me in the eyes again. I smiled so he knew that I wasn’t upset for whatever reason he thought I was.

“When did you even take these and print them all?”, i asked, petting his hair and gazing up at him.

“Oh, well, I took them with that digital camera I got for my birthday a couple years ago. And I’ve been taking and printing them for a couple months now, Tom had to teach me how to print them small enough to fit into my wallet. I had to buy special paper so that they would be shiny, y’know?”, he nervously chuckled as he rambled. I looked at him with pure admiration and love.

“Why do you have them?”

“Well, I just like to have pictures of you I guess. I wish you were with me all the time, but obviously you can’t be, so it’s just nice to have little reminders of you that I can take everywhere with me. It’s stupid, I know. When I’m at the studio all day, or when I’m on tour and i dont see you for a couple days, i just miss you a lot so I look at the pictures of you. Its kind of embarrassing that you found them…”, he said, clearly flustered.

“Bill, baby, it’s not stupid or embarrassing at all. It makes me feel so loved and so good to know that you like me enough to keep pictures of me in your wallet because you miss me or wish I was with you. I don’t think you understand how much I absolutely love you, and how badly I want to show you right now.”

A smirk grew on his face, especially at my last sentence.

“Finish your drink and then we are going back fo hotel.”, i said, taking my drink from his hand. I began to drink it, extremely fast. He watched intently, realizing exactly what you wanted to do. Bill chugged his drink too. I looked him up and down as he did so.

I grabbed his hand and lead him out of the club, he followed close behind like a lost puppy.

The cold whipped against our faces as we swiftly walked over to our hotel. We sped walked into the lobby, and despite how fast we were going, Bill still said hello to the old woman who sat behind the check-in desk. That’s just how sweet he was, practically tooth-rotting.

I pulled him into the elevator and pushed the button for our level. I looked over at Bill, who was clearly excited. He was swinging out interlocked hands back and forth, looking anywhere in the elevator but me. As soon as the doors shut, I pushed him against the wall and pulled his face down so our lips could meet. I was pressed up against him, kissing him hard. He squeezed my hand, which was still holding his. I heard the elevator ding so I pulled away. His eyes were full of desire.

I guided him over to our room, holding the door open for him. He mumbled a quiet, “thank you, baby” before stepping in. I was fast to go in too, putting the “do not disturb” sign on the knob before hastily shutting and locking it. I turned over to Bill, who had already kicked his shoes off and was now sitting patiently at the end of the bed.

I took my heels off and began to walk over to him, antagonizingly slow. I watched as his eyes scanned my body, chewing on his bottom lip. I climbed on top of him with each of my legs on the outside of his, straddling him. I put him hands on each side of his jaw and used my thumbs so caress his cheeks.

“you make me feel so good all the time, bill. you’re the most caring person I know. that’s why I want to make tonight about you. I want to take care of you and make you feel good, exactly the way you do for me. Can i do that tonight, please?”, I said softly. He swallowed hard and nodded quickly.

“I need words, baby.”

“Yes, yes please.”, he said in a rushed tone.

“Good.”, i smiled before leaning in and ever so gently kissing him. It was a kiss from pure appreciation. I deepened the kiss, using my hands to pull him closer to me, if that was even possible. I ran my fingers through his hair, tugging at it ever so slightly. I knew how much he loved it. I began to start slowly grinding myself against him, and in no time, I could feel a tent in his pants start to form. I loved how quickly I could make him hard. He pulled away, breathing hard.

“Please, I- I need you.”, he said in between pants.

I smiled and nodded. I got off of him and started to unbutton his jeans. I grabbed the sides and slowly pulled them down, revealing his black boxers that you could clearly see his erection through. It looked like that was already a little wet spot on them from pre-cum.

“are you excited, sweet boy?”, i cooed.

“yes, please, I need you to touch me.”, he hastily replied.

I pulled them down and watched as his errction sprung up. just the sight of it made me flustered.

I licked a long stripe up the underside of his length and heard him gasp. I decided to stop teasing and began to bob my head up and down on him.

he threw his head back and gripped on the sheets. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as i continued to go down on him. I could tell he was trying to refrain himself from being loud. little noises still managed to escape his throat. he repeated my name over and over again in tiny moans.

I pushed my head all the way down so his tip hit the back of my throat. I watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. I came up for a breath of air before going back down and deep throating him once again. I felt him start to twitch in your mouth, showing me he was close. I started to swirl my tongue around his tip while my hands took care of the rest of it. his hands got tangled in my hair but he didn’t push my head. I bobbed my head down a couple more times and listened as he whimpered. he kept muttering little praises to me. I knew he was about to finish. He looked a little sweaty on his face.

“ugh- please, keep going, princess. I’m almost there.”

I hummed in response, which just about threw him over the edge. he bucked his hips up into me, craving every last bit of satisfaction he could get. he finished in my mouth and i swallowed. he loved when I did that, said it was the “sexiest thing ever”. he watched as i did, his eyes fixed on my face. i climbed up to him and cupped his face. I kissed him very gently. I pulled away, but our foreheads were still connected. His eyes searched mine, and I could tell that he found whatever he was looking for in them. The little grin on his face told me so.

“i love you.”, he whispered.

“I love you too, Bill.”, i whispered back before giving him another kiss. I pulled back and admired him for a second.

I thought about how everyone deserves someone like Bill. Just not my Bill. I was forever grateful and knew I would be forever in love with my one and only, Bill.

#bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz fanfic #bill kaulitz x reader #tokio hotel #tokio hotel fanfic #tokio hotel x reader #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz fluff #tokio hotel imagine #tokio x reader #tokio hotel fluff #tokio hotel bill kaulitz

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effortandmore · 11 months

Text

tuesday moon | knj (18+)

summary: being “just friends” with kim namjoon sucks

pairing: namjoon x f!reader

rating: explicit (18+ please)

genre: fluff, smut

au: university, co-workers to lovers to friends to lovers again (they're oblivious)

warnings: it's mostly fluff i think. they're oblivious. smut: minors should not be interacting/reading, namjoon has a big dick, a lil praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, the usual suspects i think. drinking (but not before they sleep together), tae is into new age jazz... and they were roommates!

word count: 7.7k

a/n: so... i had this dream a couple months ago and couldn't get it out of my head, so here you go. thanks, sleep brain. the title is from a neutral milk hotel song (but tbh the '23 album isn't great). thank you to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over. and then for doing it again when i couldn't even find the mistake you told me was there 🙃

read on ao3

You’ve learned a lot in university—which given how much money you’ve spent to be there is a relief. But amongst business classes and writing workshops and statistics, the most important knowledge you’ve gained is that of small things.

Of small things and how they can change your life in unbelievably big ways.

Kim Namjoon isn’t exactly small. But the events that put him right in the middle of your life are. The first day you meet him is a Tuesday. Tuesdays have always been for non-events: for meetings and your least favorite classes… For snagging a coveted dryer on the third floor of the dorm building because Jeongguk saves it for you when he’s finished with his seemingly endless laundry. Tuesdays are for your first real uni friend, Taehyung, to show up to the laundry room unannounced and make you listen to weird new-age jazz on his phone that you hate, but love how much he loves it.

And then your work-study starts. A job in the library is supposed to be easy, has better hours than a lot of the jobs that are available, and pretty much only requires you to understand the Dewey decimal system so you can reshelve things quickly. You can count and read, and those seem to be the only things the head librarian cares about. Cake.

Your first training day is a Tuesday. It’s a rainy afternoon, and in one of the conference rooms in the back of the law floor are you and three other new employees. Right away, it seems like Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon are already friends. They joke and whisper throughout the orientation videos and absolutely make you feel like a fourth wheel. At your first break, Hoseok extends the invitation for you to sit with them when he notices you still sitting by yourself in the back of the room, and it's then that you learn they for sure already knew each other—music majors and all in the same class even though Yoongi is a little older than the other two. They signed up for all the same work-study assignments hoping they’d be placed together, hoping they could have a chance to work on music during slow times at the slowest work-study assignments. Namjoon, though, who has been quiet the whole time, finally speaks up at this.

“Well, I also like books,” he says softly, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “So, I guess I had an ulterior motive.”

“Of course you did, Namjoonie,” Hoseok replies.

Yoongi turns to you, explaining, “Namjoon’s a double major. Smartest guy we know. Literature and music.”

You talk more with them after the ice is broken—Yoongi’s a double major, too, math and music. Hoseok raps and does street dancing in his free time, and around the three of them, you feel like you’re woefully underachieving just at life in general.

“What about you?” Namjoon prompts after you get some background on all of them.

“Ah… nothing impressive. Economics major. Just what my parents wanted, you know. But I like books, too. I volunteer at the public library already, but it doesn’t exactly help with tuition.”

“You volunteer?” Namjoon repeats, looking surprised.

“Oh, yeah… It’s no big deal. I just read books to kids sometimes.”

“That’s awesome,” he says, and the look on his face tells you he might actually mean it. Next to him, Yoongi snickers and Hoseok smiles brightly at you.

“Namjoonie here has wanted to volunteer doing park clean up for a while, but Yoongi and I are always dragging him to the studio on the weekends, so he doesn’t have time.”

Namjoon shrugs. “It would be nice to feel like I’m helping, I think.”

“It is,” you agree, sharing a look with him across the table. “The purpose of life is to be useful…” You mumble the quote under your breath, assuming they wouldn’t know what you meant anyway.

“Emerson?” Namjoon asks.

“Oh! Uh… yeah, I mean… That’s what people think, but probably not. It’s most likely from a speech someone else gave when they gave Emerson an award, but most people think it’s him—” you cut yourself off when you notice Namjoon’s eyes gone wide.

“Self Reliance is one of my favorites,” he says, leaning forward, excitement playing in his voice.

“Same! No one ever knows what I’m talking about, but ‘Nothing at last is sacred but the integrity of one’s own mind’ is maybe my whole life philosophy,” you ramble, just happy that someone might finally know what you’re talking about. No one in your economics classes ever shows any interest in philosophy, anyway. Your roommate calls you a nerd every time you bring stuff like this up, and Jeongguk just stares at you with big eyes like he wants to drink every word you're saying but doesn’t understand a drop of it. But Namjoon actually looks… interested in what you’re saying. More than interested, even.

Yoongi elbows Hoseok and smirks. “Namjoon’s in trouble,” he says.

But before you can ask what that means, the head librarian interrupts to tell you it’s time to get back to training. You have to partner up for training to use the library’s reservation and shelving programs, and Namjoon comes right up to you, grinning shyly, and asks if you want to be his partner while his friends whisper on the other side of the room. You know immediately how this is going to go. Or you think you do, anyway.

And you’re right. By the end of the first week of your work study, you’re in Kim Namjoon’s bed.

It’s just like it sounds.

You’re naked, legs bent at the knees and open with his head between them. You noticed his brain first, but it only took that first afternoon to realize that not only was he smart, but stupid hot and kind and sort of funny in the sarcastic way you like, and he seemed to like something about you, too.

On Saturday, you work a slow shift together, both of you using most of the time to catch up on homework, and when it’s over, he asks if you want to come back to his place and keep studying. You agree quickly, but as soon as you get there, you realize you’re both on the same page about being more interested in studying each other than your class work. One thing leads to another, and here you are, moaning into your own palm as he flicks his tongue over your clit in a steady rhythm.

“Namjoon, I–” You’re pathetic, you think, gasping and barely able to make words come out of your mouth, but fuck if he’s not good at this. Better than you’d thought he would be, actually. He came across as a little on the shy side during work, like he might be one of those guys who needs you to tell him where the clit is. Eager to please, but not quite sure how to go about it. Willing to take direction.

He is not that.

“Gonna come, baby? You like my tongue that much?” Namjoon lifts his head to ask, and his lips are slick with you and his voice is deep and his fingers just don’t stop moving… It's so much.

“Yeah, so close…”

At that, Namjoon smirks and ducks his head back down to finish the job. He makes quick work of you, sucking on your clit and twisting one of your nipples with his free hand. The other has two fingers fucking into you in just the right way, just shallow enough to hit your g-spot each time he pushes in.

The orgasm builds fast, pressure from the inside, pressure from the outside… Everything feels so, so good, and you try to tell him so, but all you can do is whimper through it, clenching your thighs around his ears when you come on his tongue and he tries (bless him) to keep licking your core as your knees shake.

“Fuck,” you say on an exhale, arm tossed over your own forehead.

“I’m down,” he teases.

You’re about to say something sarcastic back, but when you lift your arm and look down at him, you lose that train of thought. He looks fucking incredible: flushed, a little sweaty, chin shiny with your orgasm and he’s grinning with those stupid dimples out… How could you not give him everything he wants? Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, the sweet rush of dopamine affecting you when you say, “I want that. Fuck me…” And for emphasis, when he stares at you a little stunned, you add, “Please, Namjoon?”

He only nods, enthusiastically and a little dopey with it, a little like the boy you saw in the library. But when his cock is out—big… like, really big. Why even have a cock that large, really? What’s even the point of that?—he’s smirking and appropriately (you hope) confident again.

“That is…” you look down and make a vague gesture in the direction of his dick, which makes him look down, too.

He shies almost instantly. “Yeah, it’s okay if it’s too much or whatever…”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I just… You look good.” You scoot up so you can have level eye contact. “Want you to fuck me. I can handle it, promise. I want to.”

Namjoon swallows, visibly nervous, but agrees anyway.

You knew it would be fine. Any partner who makes sure to tell you you’re beautiful, who makes sure you come first, who pays attention to your body the way he has for the last couple hours is probably going to keep doing that, you decide. And he does. He’s careful, even though you think it might actually be killing him a little to not move once he’s over halfway inside you. He checks in with you, makes sure the consent is still there, and then when you ask him to “actually fuck me, Namjoon… want your cock… all of you,” he does. And he delivers.

You’re essentially sitting in his lap, his palms spread on your hips as he moves you on his cock and it is… Well, it’s unequivocally the best anyone’s ever fucked you. His lips are on your neck, your breasts, the swell underneath them where they meet your ribcage… He keeps talking to you in his raspy whisper, making sure you feel okay, telling you how good you feel to him. There are times when he gets a little porny, telling you how tight you are (you’re sure a cock that big hasn’t seen anything not tight), and then he says, half out of breath, “Knew you would be a good girl. Knew it from the first time I saw you.” And you didn’t even know you wanted to be a ‘good girl,’ but suddenly you very much do.

Before he comes, he makes sure you do again, too. His thumb finds your clit and his lips are hot against your ear, whispering filth when you tighten around his cock and shudder in his lap. He’s not far behind you, pulling your hips down when he thrusts into you a little harder, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort. He’s quiet when he comes, just a low moan of your name as he stills under you.

After, it’s the small things he does that you like. It’s nice that he doesn’t try and move right away, just runs his hands up and down your back—soothing, almost. The closeness is nice, his head resting against your collarbone while you stroke your fingers through his hair. It feels intimate, more than a first time or a one night stand with your coworker should. But neither of you make a move to change that, so maybe it’s alright.

For now.

You haven’t exactly been the most social university student, but you know how these things are supposed to go. You clean up, you get dressed, you make awkward small talk about your classes or your work study and then you go your separate ways. You go back to your apartment and you don’t talk about what happened. He might look at you like he knows what’s underneath your hoodie next time you see him, but you know it won’t happen again. That’s not how it works. Not for you, anyway.

Kim Namjoon is a good guy, that you’re sure of. He’s a hard worker, he’s smart, he has lots of friends and hobbies and between that and school and work, you know there’s no way he’s looking for a relationship, and you also know he’s going to do his best to let you down easy if he thinks that’s what you’re after.

But, he’s your friend. And your co-worker, and the sex was great, so you want to at least spare him the effort of all that. So, when he gets up to dispose of the condom and find a washcloth, you get dressed quietly, pack your textbooks, and do your best to look mostly put together by the time he comes back.

“So,” you start as he returns to his room, “that was great… Really great, Namjoonie. Thank you.”

He looks… confused. “You’re thanking me for sex?”

“I uh… yes?”

Namjoon gives you a dimpled smile with an eyebrow raised, clearly amused. “Okay… Well, you’re welcome, then. And thank you.” He gives you a teasing bow, and with it, you feel a little relief. Because he’s obviously ready to move forward and this can just be a fun thing that happened and you don’t have to make him worry about letting you down, and you don’t have to worry about how much you fucking like him already. You can just be friends.

The problem, you realize quickly, is that being “just friends” with Kim Namjoon sucks.

It’s like sending your poor, delusional heart through a cheese grater with each of your work-study shifts. It’s swallowing down every dream of happiness when you have to sit next to him at a party and watch him nod along in agreement as Hoseok tells him how hot the new guy in his dance class is. (The guy is hot, with at least a 6-pack, big, pouty lips, and biceps like cannons. So, even you have to agree they have a point.)

Okay, that’s probably dramatic. Incredibly dramatic according to Taehyung and Jeongguk. Which, honestly, says a lot coming from them.

So, you do your best to forget your crush and just be cool about everything. You both make a frankly commendable effort to never talk about what happened between you, and after a few weeks, things don’t feel quite so weird. Namjoon’s probably relieved you never mentioned it again, didn’t expect him to be your boyfriend or anything.

You think you’ve done well.

At one party, halfway through the semester, you meet Namjoon’s friend, Seokjin. He’s quiet at first, polite with a big smile and a nervous laugh. He sticks close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and it doesn’t take long before he’s being shuttled across the large backyard in your direction.

“Hi,” he says simply. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh! That’s good… I think?”

“Yah, Namjoonie here—”

“Well, that was great!” Namjoon interjects. “Glad you two finally met. We’re late for something, though. So, bye!” And then he’s pulling Seokjin behind him through the yard in the opposite direction. It’s so weird.

In his protests, you’re pretty sure you hear him say, “You’re ridiculous,” to Namjoon. If you were more sober, you would have recognized it as the first small thing that should have tipped you off.

The second thing happens right before summer break. Your whole group, consisting of your and Namjoon’s friends, are sitting around at lunch discussing everyone’s plans for the summer. Hoseok and Jimin (the hot dancer he wouldn’t shut up about who is now his new boyfriend) are going to a dance clinic on the other side of the country. Jeongguk is going home, promising you he’ll leave you a list of acceptable laundromats in his absence. Seokjin and Taehyung are working—teaching acting classes to teenagers at summer camp.

Yoongi’s got an internship, so he’ll be around, but barely since it’s in the city and your university is a little outside of town. It’s a long subway trip, so he’s got a sublet up there he’s moving into for the summer months.

And then it’s Namjoon’s turn.

“I’m staying. Not on campus, obviously. But I found an apartment and I’m looking for a roommate.” Everyone nods along except Jeongguk, whose eyes dart from Namjoon to you and back several times.

“What about noona?” he finally says, hooking a thumb in your direction. “She’s staying, too.”

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“That’s not a bad idea…”

Namjoon and you look at one another. He’s flushed, and he’s doing that thing he does when he’s nervous where he rubs his throat.

“I’m sure Namjoon has plenty of people in mind already,” you say, trying to give him the out he clearly wants.

“Not exactly,” he mumbles.

“This is perfect!” Seokjin exclaims. “Don’t you think this is perfect, Namjoon?”

You lean over to whisper to Namjoon, “You don’t have to, it’s really alright.” It feels like you’re making him nervous, you can feel his muscles stiffen where you’re touching his arm, and the flush he was sporting is spreading to his neck now.

“Would you even want to?” He asks softly.

You’re not sure, actually. It’s already hard work trying to put your stupid crush out of your mind most days. And now, you only see him a few days a week. Your brain (a logical friend) is telling you that living with him will be terrible for your heart. Your heart isn’t as smart and is pounding faster just thinking about spending more time around your crush. Friend, you correct yourself.

The problem is that only Tae and Jeongguk know about your feelings, and none of them know you and Namjoon have already slept together. So, if you say no, it might be weird. As far as they know, you’re just friends, good friends. Why wouldn’t you want to live with him?

“Yeah,” you reply brightly, swallowing down your nerves, “it’ll be great, Joonie. I can cook and you can help me study for my summer classes.” You’re nodding along as you speak, trying to convince yourself that what you’re saying is true.

“Okay… sure. Roommates,” he says, looking a little stunned.

“Roommates!”

You stick your hand out to shake his. You’re the least sexy person to have ever existed, you decide, as he laughs and shakes your hand.

“It was a terrible idea,” you whine into Taehyung’s lap. “He’s just here… all the time. And sometimes…”

“Yeah?”

“Sometimes he doesn’t wear a shirt!” You slump further into your friend, making what you know are pitiful whining noises into his thighs.

It’s not like you’d go as far as saying moving in with Namjoon for the summer was a mistake. But it wasn’t great. Actually, it was really fucking great, and that was the problem. Or part of the problem anyway.

The apartment is nice—nicer than you’d envisioned when he told you about it. Not too big, but on the corner of the building so you got nice light throughout the day. You each have your own bedroom (thank god) and they aren’t large, but Namjoon gave you the one with the room for a chair by the window, even though you knew he’d been planning to write lyrics there. As promised, you cook for both of you in your small kitchen and Namjoon helps you with your summer classes.

With all of your friends gone or busy, you two don’t see much of them, and it feels like you build your own little world: late nights listening to the records he brings home, eating simple meals by the window and complaining that you don’t have a balcony, getting dragged out on bike rides when the sun falls and it’s cool enough outside, hunched together on the floor of the living room scrolling webtoons and drinking one too many cheap beers, and the worst (best) of all—falling asleep on the couch together before you wake up with a jolt realizing your head is on him and it’s far, far too much to realize his chest is in your face… so you scramble to your room like a coward and don’t fall back asleep, too keyed up.

Seokjin, when you do see him, adds in more and more “old married couple” jokes as the summer goes on. He makes fun of your chore lists on the fridge, cutely decorated with whatever doodle has been occupying Namjoon’s mind that week.

(Jin doesn’t even know that when all the chores are done, you save the little post-it notes, snatching them off the fridge when Namjoon’s not around or not paying attention, and putting them carefully into a little box in your desk drawer with all the other scraps and mementos of your friendship you’ve kept over the almost-year you’ve known him.)

Jin teases you when he lets himself in, late in the mornings, and finds the two of you still asleep, tumbled atop each other on the floor, record-listening session gone too late, the needle still digging into invisible grooves at the center.

It’s not his fault it doesn’t feel like a joke to you, he doesn’t know that you feel like the 45 and all of the jokes and all of Namjoon’s smiles and all of the little notes he leaves and the way he blushes when you come out of the bathroom in your robe like maybe maybe there’s just a chance you’re not the only one still thinking about that one time… that those are the needles, and you’re here, spinning in place while they poke and prod and dig for a melody that just isn’t there.

Namjoon, to his credit, is the very definition of a good friend and roommate. He does all the little things. He brings you breakfast sometimes when he’s been out all night and knows you’ll be waking up shortly after he comes home. He cleans, so that even though he’s got so much stuff (endless records and books and figurines and things he just thought were cute), your apartment never feels dirty, just lived-in and homey and a little cluttered. Buys toothpaste when you forget—before you forget, even. Puts your favorite flavor of soju in the fridge every week even though he hates it.

And it’s not just what he does at home (your home. with him. which you try not to think about because the way the thought makes your heart swell and almost burst is dangerous and confusing, and you hate that you can’t stop thinking about it entirely.) he takes you out, too. It helps that he’s more social than you: gets you outside in the real world between classes and studying. Makes sure you touch grass. Does stupid dances with you to bad music at worse clubs. Buys you hotteok at 2am because he knows you want it even though you won’t admit it so he says both pieces are for him and lets you argue that it’s bad for his heart and you’re willing to take one off his hands just for the sake of his health… because you care for him.

You don’t let yourself think about the way it seems like he flushes and his eyes twinkle a little when you say that. It’s got to be in your imagination.

He doesn’t know that each time he goes out of his way to do something nice for you hurts a little. Doesn’t know that each time he’s a touch too sweet, you wish you’d stayed that one time. Can’t possibly relate to the way you wish that one night turned into a date turned into something more, maybe.

And you know he can’t relate, because he’s started doing this thing while you’ve been living together: talking about someone. Someone that he likes.

It’s devastating and you try so hard not to cry on the nights when it comes up. You succeed in never crying in front of him, but if you drip snot onto your pillow trying to hold back your sobs once you’re alone in your room, he doesn’t have to know.

You don’t know who she is, but you’ve overheard Namjoon on the phone with Yoongi talking about her. She sounds great, if Namjoon’s probably clouded judgment is any indication. He thinks she’s smart and talented, says she sells herself short and he thinks she’s as close to perfect as anyone on the planet. He doesn’t go out without you too often, and you don’t ask where he’s been if he doesn’t offer, but he must be spending time with her because you catch him on a video call with Hoseok saying she can cook and she’s brilliant and she’s everything he’s ever wanted.

She also sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s got, because Namjoon’s convinced she doesn’t like him back and that she’s out of his league—you finally ascertain that the reason he’s been going to the gym more was because one time she said she thought another guy had nice biceps and he knows they were bigger than his.

One time, you come home late, catching Tae at a bar near campus after he’s done with classes and drinking a little too much. You’re not drunk, but you’re in that warm space past sober where everything is a little softer and funnier and Namjoon looks dangerously pretty sitting at his desk with headphones on working on a song.

You plop on his bed, as you do now, and wait for him to notice you’re there. It doesn’t take long.

“Hey,” he says as he pulls off the headphones. He’s giving you the double-dimple smile, which is especially effective when you’re tipsy like this. Throws you more off-kilter than another cocktail would have. “Have fun with Tae?”

“Hmm… yeah.” You lay back on his bed and don’t let yourself worry about your shirt riding up or your hair spilling around you in a haystack. It’s just Namjoon, and you know he doesn’t think about you like that, know he’s already seen you with more skin showing, hair messier.

“Need me to get you some water?”

“No,” you sit up on your elbows, “s’okay. Didn’t drink too much. What’re you working on?”

Namjoon is staring right at you, something indiscernible on his face. He looks almost like he’s in pain or something. “You alright?”

He shakes his head and looks embarrassed. You have no idea why. “Yeah, fine… I’m fine. Just a song, nothing too special.”

“Can I hear it?”

“It’s personal… Kind of silly. It’s not done yet… I’m not sure you’d like it,” he says.

“I like everything you make.” It comes out too honest, you’re not sober enough to hide the tenderness in your voice, to wrap it in something less vulnerable.

There’s no response to that, and you worry you’ve given too much away for a split second before he unplugs his headphones and hits play on the song. And if you thought the sight of him working, bathed in moonlight and neon, was beautiful, this song is truly something else.

It’s lovely—sweeping melody and building building with layers until it crashes all around you, his voice low and quick, persistent with words of love. It’s a love song disguised as wordplay, or maybe the other way around. It’s him in music: smart and beautiful and selfless and breathtaking… You want to keep it, you want it to be yours, you want the words to be about you or for you or just written with you in the back of his mind. It’s too much, it’s so so beautiful, and you know it’s about her. It’s for her. She’s the one who has his attention and who gets his words and it makes you want to crawl under your blankets and never come out like a petulant child.

You’re laying down again, so you don’t know what he’s looking at as you listen. When it ends, you’re asking the question even though you don’t want the answer, even though him saying it will make it too real. “Is it about her?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he answers, just as quietly. “It’s about her.”

You sit up quick, make sure you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the tears that are beginning to drip down your cheeks.

“It’s pretty,” you say as you head toward the door, hopefully not giving yourself away, not looking back in his direction. “Really pretty. She’s lucky, Namjoonie.”

You don’t see the confusion on his face as your bedroom door closes behind you. You don’t hear him tell you goodnight in a small, concerned voice.

After song-gate, you do your best to put a brave face on and move forward. It’s more for him than you, you have to tell yourself. Because you, your heart, you don’t want to let him go, can’t stand the idea of watching him be happy with someone else. But you, Kim Namjoon’s best friend, you want nothing more than for him to be happy, even if it’s not with you. And it’s hard, but for the most part, you let that version of you win.

You give him broad smiles and you keep not asking where he’s going when he leaves without you. You try really hard not to overhear his calls with Hoseok and Yoongi and when you do, you give him a ridiculous double-thumbs up and tell him to go for it, that she’d be a fool to turn him down. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one who ends up looking foolish in that moment though, even if you really, truly mean it.

One day (of course it’s a Tuesday), you come home from class, and you’re sorting through the mail when you spot a card on the counter that wasn’t there in the morning. Namjoon must’ve left it when he came home, you can hear the shower running from down the hall. It’s rare he beats you home on Tuesdays, always saying he’s got “something” to do “across town” and you just assume it’s with her, so you don’t ask.

But what’s more interesting than him being home early is what the card is: a temporary driver license issued to one Kim Namjoon. It’s got a picture of him, dimples out and glasses on, dated that day. You hadn’t even known he’d taken the class or the tests. You wonder why he wouldn’t tell you… It’s a big deal to him—he’d always said he didn’t need it, liked taking the bus and the metro. Thought cars were bad for the planet and that there were too many of them in the city anyway. But here’s the card, proof that for some reason he thought it was time for a change.

“Oh! You… I didn’t mean for you to find that…”

You look up. Namjoon’s standing by the couch, watching you examine his license, wrapped in a towel because if there’s a god, he only wants you to suffer.

“You got your license?”

“Ah… the temporary one, yeah. Still need to take the road test.”

He seems nervous, fidgeting with the blanket on the back of the sofa. You don’t know why he’d be nervous, it’s cool, you think. One more thing to add to the seemingly endless list of things Namjoon can do.

“Proud of you, Namjoonie. But… why? I thought you didn’t want to drive.”

He shrugs. “Don’t really, but… I just thought… Well, I thought if I got up the nerve to ask someone on a date, it would be nice to drive her. Just once or twice. Make it special, I guess. It’s probably stupid, but I thought y—” He cuts himself off and pauses. Looks out the window and scrunches his forehead up like he’s scolding himself. “I thought she might like that,” he says, finally.

“Did she tell you to get a license?” You’re sure you sound as outraged as you feel when you ask.

“No! She wouldn’t… No. I just wanted to try.”

“Okay. Okay, good. You shouldn’t change yourself for anyone, Joonie.” And then you do that thing again, where you say too much, where it comes out too fond. “You’re more than enough just the way you are. If she doesn’t know that, she’s not good enough for you.”

Namjoon smiles softly. “I’m starting to think she does,” he says.

And the look on his face… It’s happiness and warmth and fuck you wish it was for you. Those nagging feelings of wanting more more more from him are welling up in your chest. “Good,” you say, still too tender as you set the card in his palm and scoot past him to your room, mail forgotten. “That’s the very least of what you deserve.”

Later that night, you’ve tucked the soft and vulnerable parts of you back inside, showered, ordered food, and sent Namjoon down to pick it up with a stop at the convenience store for soju and beer. You can do this, you tell yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up for the first time you both will hang out with all your friends in months.

The summer is drawing to an end. Seokjin and Taehyung are done teaching, Jimin and Hoseok got back over the weekend, Yoongi’s internship ended the week prior, and Jeongguk is back from his visit home, everyone returning in time to buy books and settle in for the new semester.

You and Namjoon have decided to keep the apartment: close enough to campus, affordable enough, and you both bashfully agreed you liked living together, an arrangement sealed with the secret handshake greeting from a drama you’d watched together over the summer. So, you have the biggest apartment out of all your friends (which doesn’t say much), and they’ve all decided in your group chat that the group “welcome home” party would take place in your living room.

Seokjin and Taehyung arrive first, Jeongguk in tow. They’re pouring through your door play-fighting and laughing and for a minute, you forget your crush on your roommate, you forget he’s pining after someone else, and you just feel so much joy that your friends are back as they pull you into a crushing group hug.

“We brought wine,” Seokjin says.

“Ew!” (A twin chorus from you and Jeongguk).

“Fine, you two have your cheap soju and leave the good stuff for the rest of us.”

“Hyung, that bottle was only six—”

“Shh! Have some respect!” Seokjin says, slapping in the air in Tae’s general direction.

They file into the kitchen to drop off snacks and cheap wine while you leave to dig around in Namjoon’s room for some records to play. It’s a hassle, finding enough that you like and then having to flip them every fifteen minutes, so you finally give up and resign yourself to just playing a playlist off your phone. Or anyone’s phone except Taehyung’s anyway, because “experimental jazz night” was not a hit last time he suckered you all into it.

When you come back down the hall, your kitchen is suspiciously quiet. There is whispering and you can’t hear what they’re saying but you know anytime Jeongguk and Seokjin are colluding that it means trouble.

“What’s going on in here?” You ask as you make it back to the kitchen.

The three of them are reading the notes on your fridge and they all hop around immediately. Jeongguk and Taehyung have the decency to look guilty, but Seokjin just looks like he’s unearthed the lost city or something.

“What are these?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Our shopping list? Chore list?”

Seokjin grins. “No, not those… These.” He plucks a sticky off the fridge and starts reading it aloud.

“...And greet the all auspicious day,

Whose privilege permits my song—”

You can feel your face like a wildfire, hot and persistent, as you snatch the piece of paper out of his hand and tuck it in your pocket.

“That’s nothing. Just a poem”

“That’s not nothing, that’s a love poem.”

“We just leave each other quotes sometimes,” you mutter, fussing around the kitchen, opening the bags of snacks and setting them on the counter. “It’s no big deal. Just a small thing.”

Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes. “And you sometimes leave each other love poems?” he asks cautiously.

“I guess… It’s whatever,” you say.

“What’s whatever?” Hoseok’s bright voice drifts into the room. You snap your head up to see that he’s with Jimin, and they’re followed in by Yoongi and Namjoon, carrying all the food and drinks.

“Namjoon hyung and Noona leave each other love notes on the fridge!” Jeongguk says brightly. “It’s so cute.”

Your jaw actually drops, and you see in your periphery, Namjoon’s is doing the same.

“They’re not love notes!” You protest.

“They’re poems,” Namjoon adds with indignance.

“Besides,” you add, “he’s got a girlfriend or whatever.” You know you sound a little annoyed, and you don’t want to, but it’s worth it if it gets them off your backs.

“Wait, what?” Yoongi finally joins the conversation, peeking his head around the corner into the kitchen.

Six pairs of eyes are on you, and one (Namjoon’s) is anywhere but. You get the offputting feeling that something is happening, but you don’t know what. That the boys staring at you know something you don’t.

“Namjoonie… He’s got a girl he likes. So, they’re not love notes. They’re just quotes we like.”

Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and then Hoseok says, “Oh my god, they are that bad.”

Seokjin nods. “The worst, actually.”

“What? What is going on?” You ask. The question is directed at anyone, but you’re looking straight at Namjoon, who still won’t look at you.

“I’m just gonna open some soju,” Jimin says. “Come on, guys.”

The statement is clearly directed at Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk, who are all still huddled by the fridge, clearly amused at whatever is unfolding in your kitchen. One by one, they file out. Namjoon tries to follow them, but Yoongi unceremoniously shoves him back into the kitchen with a hissed, “I don’t think so, Namjoon.”

“I’m so confused,” you say quietly. Namjoon finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and he looks so so nervous. Just like the day you’d agreed to be roommates. You have no idea why, because you’d never do anything to make him feel that way, not on purpose. “Is this about her? I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have—”

“No! I mean… yeah, it’s about her. Or you, I guess?”

“Me?”

Namjoon nods. He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You. You and her.”

“I don’t even know her, Namjoonie.”

He sighs. “You are her.”

You’re every meme of confused people trying to do math. You think you probably have a literal question mark above your head. You think you heard him right but… but there’s no way that it’s what he meant.

“What?”

Namjoon looks like it’s almost painful to keep speaking, also a little apologetic. “I like you,” he says, shrugging. “I like you so much, and I’m a dick for agreeing to be your roommate when I felt that way, and I thought after that one time… Well, I thought maybe you needed more and that’s why it never happened again, so I started going to the gym more and trying to… I don’t know. Be more?” He runs a hand through his hair and slumps against the counter. “I just like you so much and I wanted you to like me, too. But I—”

“You like me?”

“Oh, fuck, so much.” It’s almost out like a breath, floats through the space between the two of you, waves itself in front of your face.

“That’s why you thought it would be weird to be roommates…” you say, pieces clicking together.

“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “And why I tried to get biceps like Jimin and why I leave you love notes on the fridge, and why I wrote you a whole song about how incredible you are, how you make me feel, and how much I want you even though you don’t want me back…”

“Biceps like Jimin?”

“You said they were nice…”

“Oh my god.” Little details of the past few months since you slept together all start floating around in your head and you see it so clearly now, it all starts to make sense, all the silly little things Namjoon does for you because it’s you, because he likes you… and oh no…

“Namjoon.”

“Yeah?” He’s painfully cute like this—nervous and a little shy, hair falling into his eyes like it can protect him from looking right at you.

You take a couple of steps closer to him. “I like you, too.”

“You what?”

“I like you, too. Just the way you are. I like all the nice small things you do for me, I like how you think, I like how you smell like soap all the time ‘cause you take a million showers… I like living with you… I like your records and your books and… And it’s stupid probably, but I save all your doodles like a teenager would ‘cause I just like you so fucking much… And I’m the bad friend, the one who moved in with you even though I liked you like this. I thought I would get over it. I thought… I don’t know. I thought after we slept together you just wanted to be friends, so I’ve been trying so hard, but…”

“It’s awful,” he says, a giant grin on his face as he watches you stumble through your confession. “I thought you just wanted to be friends, too. You left before I could ask you to stay.”

“Yeah, it is awful. Liked you since that first day in the library.”

“Fuck, me too. We’re so ridiculous.”

“Jin was right, we’re the worst,” you whisper.

“You are!” You hear Jin call from the living room.

You let your head fall forward and bury it in Namjoon’s chest as he wraps an arm (with a perfectly sized bicep, you note, reminding yourself to tell him later) around you and laughs into your hair.

“You’re listening to us?” you protest.

“Hard not to,” Yoongi answers, “small apartment.”

“You fucked?!” Hoseok yells.

“Oh my god,” you moan into Namjoon’s shirt.

“I bet they made love,” you hear a dreamy-voiced Jimin chime in.

You can feel Namjoon’s laugh rumble through his chest against your ear. It’s the best feeling you’ve felt in months.

“So,” you start, pulling your head off his chest, but letting him slide his arm down yours until you’re loosely holding hands. “What now?”

“Well, we should probably talk.”

You peek around him to see your friends all staring at you. “Maybe later?” you ask.

“Later is good.” Namjoon smiles so so big. You love knowing that you’re the one making him feel happy, you think you’re a little ridiculous for being jealous of some other non-existent girl this whole time.

“We like each other,” you say, still a little in shock.

“We do.”

Then, because you’re you, and you have not ever once been cool in front of Kim Namjoon, you lift your palm up. And because he’s him, and now you know he probably thinks he has never once been cool around you, he gives you a high five, his palm connecting with yours and then lingering there while you look at each other and you try not to lift up on your toes and kiss the shit out of him.

“Did they just high five?” Hoseok asks, incredulous.

“They’re so weird. Do you remember when they shook hands on being roommates when it was so obvious they wanted to jump each other on the couch? They probably kissed no tongue and called it sex,” Seokjin says, unhelpfully.

“Hey!” you shout. “We can hear you!”

“The sex was really great, for your information,” Namjoon says, and your face heats immediately.

“It was,” you agree, if for no other reason than it really really was. And you want to make Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. “Namjoon really knows wh—”

“This is going to be even worse than them being oblivious, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks no one in particular, cutting you off.

But that night after your friends leave, and you do get the chance to kiss Namjoon again, who is now not only your roommate, but your boyfriend, you know Yoongi couldn’t have been more wrong. This is infinitely better than being oblivious to Namjoon's feelings.

“What do you see in me?” he says into the ceiling, sweaty and a little hazy post-orgasm, after you’d made sure to seal your new arrangement properly. No high fives, no handshakes, just long kisses and nervous touches turning more sure, Namjoon making sure to whisper into your skin how much he cares for you, how sexy he thinks you are, how long he’s waited to have you again like this…

(And you returning those words, moving your hips in slow circles in his lap, fingernails trailing across his shoulders as you tell him how good he is, how gorgeous he looks, how his biceps are the exact right size for you to squeeze—which makes him laugh while he fucks you, and if that’s not the best thing you’ll ever see in your life, you’re not sure what is...)

You lace your fingers with his and turn to him, thinking about all the things you love about him, how all those pieces layer together to make something so big that it seems to take up your whole heart. “I like all the small things that make you, you.”

And he kisses you as a reply, lips soft and sweet on yours, and you decide that from now on, Tuesdays are for kissing your boyfriend in the moonlight and making sure he knows exactly how much you like him so that neither of you are ever unsure again.

#namjoon fic #namjoon smut #namjoon imagine #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon fanfiction #knj x reader #kvanity #btshoneyhive #bts smut #bts fluff #bts writing #bts fanfic #bts imagines

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lost-walmartbag · 1 year

Text

SP characters as dads pt 2

Warning!: All characters are over 18 unless stated otherwise

Background: You and your husband are first-time parents. In this fic you and Kenny. You and Butters. You and Clyde figure out how to be the best parents you can be.

Status: Request Open

Previous part

Next part

Kenny

You wake up when the baby starts crying. You groan and wake Kenny up making him roll out of bed. He hits the floor but gets up and goes to the nursery. When he came back in the room you were asleep. He tiptoes in holding the baby and gets into bed with the baby.

"Kenny" You groan. "You can't have Kai in bed with us we could squish him."

"Mommy ruined the fun," Kenny says to the baby.

"You're gonna ruin the soft spot on his head." You groan.

You kiss the baby making him coo and squirm closer to you. You look at Kenny and smirk making Kenny frown.

"Why does he like you more than me?" Kenny whines.

"Because I carried him for nine months," you say nuzzling Kai with your nose.

"Hey, I carried him in my balls for much longer than that." He jokes making you laugh.

You move the baby closer to him making the baby squirm away towards you again. You move closer to Kenny and put the baby in between you two.

"My favorite boys." You mutter drifting to sleep again.

Kenny stays awake watching you sleep peacefully as the baby gently touched your face. He moves the baby closer to him and Kai grabs his hair making himself happy. Kenny was about to take his hair out of his hands until he noticed how calm it made him and how closely he moved toward him.

"I love you so much," Kenny said about to kiss his head until Kai pulls his hair harder as he scooted towards you again.

Butters

You walk to the nursery seeing Butters dressing Bradley in bright yellow clothes and a big hat. You smile and walk inside and stand next to Butters looking down at Bradley who was cooing happily.

"You ready Honey?" You ask him.

"Sure am." He says picking Bradley up, nuzzling his nose into his cheek.

"You always dress him so well. He looks like a cute little bee." You see kissing his cheek.

"Do you mind if we leave the stroller I just want to carry him?" He says holding him tightly.

"Of course not baby. But you get tired you're out of luck~" You tease giving him a kiss on the cheek.

You three head out the door taking a nice walk through the neighborhood letting Bradley point at things and babble nonsense.

"glasjhde." Bradley babbled while pointing at some flowers on some bushes at the park.

"Yeah, Bradley those are flowers." Butters says slowly.

"fowe." Bradley responds.

"Oh my god, Leo he's saying words." You say excitedly.

Butters smiles and sits down on the grass with him giving him a flower from the bush. "Flower" Butters says slowly.

"Dada," Bradley says excitedly and giggles.

"No flowe-" Butters starts before realizing what Bradley had just said.

"Dada? Did you say, Dada?" He asks smiling brightly.

"He said, Dada!" You yell in excitement at your baby's first words.

"Dada! Mama!" Bradley yells giggling loudly.

"He said, Mama!" Butters says hugging you tightly.

You both hug Bradley making him giggle and grab onto Butter's shirt

Clyde

"Clyde baby can you change the baby she spilled some milk on herself!" You ask from the other room as you try to clean up the mess.

He comes in with a onesie and takes the baby from you drying her off. She coos and tries to reach for him. He smiles and takes off her wet onesie and tries to fit her inside the onesie he brought.

"Hey, babe I think some of her clothes shrunk in the wash," Clyde says noticing how small the onesie was for her.

You get up and look at the onesie and inspect it. You raise a brow and smile. "I don't think so baby I think Claire's just getting bigger."

Clyde's face drops and he looks down at Claire who was trying to get out of the tight onesie.

"Getting bigger?" Clyde repeats and you cringe knowing what was about to happen.

Clyde starts crying and drops to his knees. You sigh and go to grab another onesie. You come back seeing Clyde still crying now holding Claire closer.

"You're getting bigger you won't love me anymore." He says between sobs.

"Oh, Clyde calm down. She'll still love you she's just getting bigger." You say trying to take her from him.

Clyde steps back not letting you take her. He shakes his head and tries his best to stop crying.

"God Clyde you do this every 3 weeks. She can't stay small forever." You say finally taking her from his arms.

You start to dress her in the bigger onesie as Clyde calms down more and more. Clyde sniffles and hugs you from behind.

"You better now?" You ask him.

"Yes, I've come to terms with how big she's getting. I just wish it didn't have to happen so soon. I want her like this forever." Clyde says.

"I know." You say gently placing Claire down on the floor to play with her toys. "But she's gonna grow and it's a good thing, love."

"You're right god I feel so stupid crying about it." He says smiling at you and kissing your lips softly.

When you both look back at Claire you see her slowly standing up and walking toward Clyde. You gasp and start smiling brightly as your baby takes her first steps but when you look over at Clyde he was once again on the floor crying holding onto Claire tightly.

A/N: So you guys clearly loved the first one so here is part two for yall. Ik ik im amazing you're welcome. But fr thank you sm for reading. Let me know who should be in the next part. I love you all 🩷

#south park x reader #south park #south park clyde #clyde x reader #south park butters #butters leopold stotch #kenny mccormick #kenny mcormick x reader #fanfic

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rarepears · 7 months

Note

Nie Huaisang, Lan Xichen, Jin Guangyao, and Nie Mingjue all reincarnate together into PIDW, and become disciples around the same time as Luo Binghe.

The drama of this is of course enhanced by the facts that NMJ & JGY died "early," but NHS & LXC lived to the end of their natural lives as cultivators, and so some of their perspectives and opinions on events have naturally changed with age. (tfw the passage of time renders you unfamiliar to your once-loved ones)

Eventually they talk about their feelings and reconcile and such, and this ends up derailing the plot of PIDW severely as the rest of the PIDW characters confusedly observe quite possibly the weirdest disciples Cang Qiong's ever seen

NMJ on Bai Zhan, with no clue what's going on because he died first and NHS & LXC haven't told him anything

NHS on An Ding, thoroughly enjoying what's pretty much a vacation to him at this point and possibly running an interpeak illicit goods market (definitely not to distract himself from any of the emotions having NMJ & JGY alive and nearby would be causing him, Everything Is Fine) I haven't decided if he'd get involved with the whole og!SQH and MBJ situation tho

LXC on Qiong Ding, because I feel like he'd see himself in Yue Qingyuan and lowkey hate him for it and I think that could be interesting

JGY on Qing Jing, because he's the objectively the funniest/most interesting character to throw into the mess that is SJ and LBH. The way I imagine it, he's doing the most direct derailing of the plot, because he mostly accidentally gets right in the middle of the thing that is going on between those two

I feel like as I wrote this it became more serious than I originally intended so just know that I'm mentally picturing this like a fic that's interspersed with outsider POV of the 4 of them being completely deranged about eachother

(Also I'd feel bad taking away LXC's brother so LWJ and WWX + friends are busy doing hot girl shit being rogue cultivators. I think WWX should be a half demon so he gets to keep the cultivation and steal some of LBH's protagonist energy. If this was a fic then the rest of the Untamed gang would be perfect to use for side characters during off-peak missions)

*grabs popcorn and sits down to hear more*

Nie Huaisang is having too much fun waiting the two idiots called his shizun and shizun's poorly kept secret of a boyfriend go flailing around on these terribly unromantic dates BUT THE TWO WERE TRYING SO HARD that it was cute. He wonders if he should do something to help the poor idiots out... Should he?

Maybe he should...

(Watch Shang Qinghua and Mobei Jun suddenly have a number of sex pollen accidents over the next few months....)

Lan Xichen would be an old man and a good voice of reason for Yue Qingyuan. Although he's head disciple and a very good one at that (if only because his Big Brother instincts can't be held back and he MUST interfere to help prevent history repeating once more), Lan Xichen has made it very clear that he would never accept becoming sect leader.

Also don't forget Liu Mingyan in the background writing about a 4 person sex orgy. At least, that's her personal theory for why there's so much UNRESOLVED TENSION between these four sus male disciples. And also, because it's fun.

It's even funner when you consider that Nie Mingjue is out of the loop of Cang Qiong stuff even on Bai Zhan because he tags along on so many of Liu Qingge's missions that he's probably spending like 8 months of the year outside of the sect.

(Nie Huaisang gets "assigned" to missions that happen to take place near Nie Mingjue's hunts.)

Meng Yao is Meng Yao and he still craves the approval of Male Authority Figures That Could be his dad. Also Meng Yao still likes to climb up the social hierarchy and power. AKA Luo Binghe growing mushrooms in the corner at seeing ANOTHER QING JING disciple THE SAME AGE AS HIM being given SO MUCH ATTENTION AND APPROVAL by shizun.

Luo Binghe develops a complex over Meng Yao of course.

(Shen Jiu approves of Meng Yao because he understands these characters very well and know how to manipulate (cough kill or injury them physically or mentally) them easily. Plus Meng Yao is actually competent.)

[More in #Nie Huaisang Lan Xichen Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue reincarnate into PIDW and are Cang Qiong disciples at the same time as Luo Binghe is AU

#mdzs #mao dao zu shi #mxtx #the untamed #svsss #svsss au #svsss ideas #scum villain's self saving system #lan xichen #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #meng yao #Nie Huaisang Lan Xichen Meng Yao and Nie Mingjue reincarnate into PIDW and are Cang Qiong disciples at the same time as Luo Binghe is AU

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mylovelies-docx · 9 months

Text

Sorry, I Love You - Part 8

I apologize for not posting last week. How about this longer chapter to make up for it?

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: First day of HYDRA work, social gatherings

Word Count: 2,270

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6][Part 7]

The next morning dawned bright and chilly. You only know this because you happened to pass by a window covered in frost on your way to one of the HYDRA labs within the facility.

Your first few hours on site had you running through various tests and exams to study your mental capacity and knowledge on the interest that HYDRA holds in the biology field. There was nothing shocking or unexpected that your new supervisors asked you, but the implications of what they expect from you sends shivers down your spine. You studied and memorized and read for weeks in preparation for this assignment last year, and you’re so glad that your brain retains this kind of information like a sponge – you’d have been disposed of on the spot if your background hadn’t checked out.

But now you’ve ‘officially’ joined HYDRA. The thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth, but you wash it down with the knowledge that what you’re doing is going to help the world by eliminating whatever disgusting and horrible work is being done here.

The plan is to spend as much time as it takes to gain HYDRA’s confidence in your abilities and allow you access to the higher level projects – the world-ending projects. This could take weeks. Or months. Hopefully not years? Being Bucky’s sister for that long would drive you insane.

“You,” a scientist snaps from behind their desk as you pass their open office door. You stop in your tracks and peer into the dingy office, noticing scuff marks and mysterious stains on the floor. The man’s desk has every square inch covered in files and papers. So much so that there is a noticeable curvature on the desktop, the cheap material unable to handle the amount of weight it has been subjected to over the years.

“Yes, sir?” you inquire.

He refuses to look up from his work, instead opting to dangle a set of keys from his fingers in your direction. “Go and grab the files for project 0B276HG21 in storage room C.”

Repeating the string of numbers and letters in your head, you take the keys from his outstretched hand and make your way to the storage room. There are so many rooms within the facility that you would be lost without the information your informant sent the team. But even with it, the facility has undergone changes since the last facility plans were uploaded, so you run into dead ends where there should be access doors.

You can only hope that your experience and knowledge will allow you to work your way up quickly – you don’t know how long you can stand to be a lackey. You roll your eyes at the errands you’ve had to run so far, but you know that the new person never gets given the big jobs on the first day.

And so the rest of the shift passes in the same manner and you arrive back at your and Bucky’s house with little energy and even less information.

“Don’t worry about it, doll,” Bucky reassures. “Slow and steady wins the race, right?”

“That’s such a stupid fable,” you grumble. “The hare would have won if it didn’t have such an inflated ego.”

Bucky grins at your disgruntled face before you flop your head backwards to rest. You release a sigh and relax further into the couch where you collapsed after walking in the front door, relieved to smell dinner simmering away on the stove since you arrived home later than expected and hadn’t had the opportunity to grab lunch.

You tilt your head and watch as Bucky shuffles around the kitchen. He’s long since showered after his time at the repair shop: his hair nearly dry and the strands sticking out in a way that you know he tousled it with his towel and let it finish air drying. The new shorter strands allowed for the minimal work to pay off in dividends because it was damn near impossible to remember how soft his hair used to be and not be able to run your fingers through it now.

Your fingers itch to reach out, but you grip the cushion instead. No one said that this would be easy. Well, no one has said it’d be anything because Nat’s mission has her radio silent and Wanda is busy spending time with Vis for you to complain about your one-sided love with someone who doesn’t know the feeling. You know that if they knew what was happening right now, they’d be plying you with ideas on how to survive this mission with minimal heartbreak.

“The food is done,” Bucky says as he gathers plates and utensils to set the table. “Are you coming in here or do you want me to bring you a bowl?”

Unfortunately, your best friends aren’t available to provide their wisdom, so here you are: suffering in silence with no outlet.

“I’ll be there in a second,” you respond. You unclench your fist from the couch’s fabric and stretch out your stiff fingers. Rising from your seat, you make your way into the kitchen and take a seat at the table as Bucky brings the pot over from the stove. You stare intently into the soup as Bucky ladles it into a bowl and sets it in front of you.

“Did something happen today?” he questions with a worried expression.

“You know HYDRA,” you tiredly reply. Looking up into his eyes for the first time this evening, you see the crease between his brows and mentally slap yourself. “I’m fine, Bucky. They don’t have me working on anything specific yet.”

“I know,” he says, “but just be careful with those people, okay?”

You smile up at him and nod your head, your heart squeezing in your chest.

You’re both silent through dinner with the exception of your compliments on Bucky’s cooking. It’s hard to clear the air after bringing up HYDRA and their actions, even in the vaguest way.

***

The week stretches on for an eternity, but eventually Saturday rolls around and you and Bucky prepare to meet the neighborhood.

You arrive at the restaurant right on time. Light pours from the windows and the snow on the ground glistens gold. As soon as you open the car door, you hear laughter and chatter forcing their way through the walls.

“I hate entering a party where everybody is already best friends with each other and then you’re left standing there like a loner,” you decry, already dreading the feeling of ‘otherness’ you will be experiencing in a few short moments.

“You’re not a loner,” Bucky laughs. “You make friends as easily as breathing.”

“Not true,” you counter. “I can make ‘friends’ with strangers, but it’s never anything real. I’m a spy, remember? It’s literally life or death to get people to like me.”

“Trust me, doll,” Bucky says as he looks intently at you from across the car. “People can’t help but love you.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you hope the light from the restaurant isn’t bright enough to reveal them to Bucky. The feelings squirming around in your stomach feel suspiciously like hope, and you can’t have that. You deflect any seriousness by laughing off Bucky’s comment.

“Tell that to all the people I’ve thrown in prison.”

Bucky calls your name with some disappointment and a slight frown on his face. You shrug your shoulders and motion towards the entrance. “It’s time to head inside. Come on.”

You walk away from him and lead the way into the building. Upon opening the door, a blast of warm, humid air hits you. The smell of beer and sweat sweeps up your nostrils, and the interior design reminds you more of a local dive bar than a restaurant. But everyone is laughing and having a good time, so you plaster a smile on your face and look around for the Gretens.

You see Christopher speaking to a short, skinny man, deep in conversation and barely acknowledging anyone else. Tessa stands in a corner surrounded by three other women, all of them laughing and having a good time. Bucky walks up behind you as you stand in the doorway and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Divide and conquer?” he asks. You nod your head and make your way over to the group of women.

When you’re within ten feet of her, Tessa notices you. She beams at you and raises her hand to usher you closer.

“Ladies!” Tessa introduces. “Meet our newest neighbor!”

A round of introductions follows and you can’t help but admire how blatantly obvious these women are about their curiosity. Tessa seems to have already told them everything she knows about you, but they have to ask their own questions.

“And where’s that brother of yours?” one of them asks. “Tessa’s told us how handsome he is! I’ve got a daughter I’ve been trying to get out of the house for ages.”

You laugh through the twist of your guts, replying merrily, “Oh, I’m sure he’d appreciate the introduction.”

Before the woman can demand a personal introduction, Tessa interrupts when the entrance opens once again and lets in a blast of cold air.

“Petre!” She performs the same waving hand motion that brought you over earlier to the new arrival. “Come here!”

Glancing back, you see a tall man with dark hair and dark eyes making his way over to you. He stops in front of Tessa and wraps her in a quick hug.

“This is my son, Petre. Petre, this is our neighbor.”

Petre greets you warmly. “Hello, it’s nice to finally meet you. My mother hasn’t stopped talking about you since you moved in.”

You giggle when Tessa pats his arm roughly and shake his proffered hand. His skin is warm and dry, the skin on the back of his knuckles chapped from the winter weather. Tessa not-so-subtly draws the other women away from you and Petre and into another conversation, leaving you to speak with each other.

“Your mother seems to think we’d make a good pair,” you comment with a glance over at her.

“Ah, yes,” Petre says while fiddling with his shirt sleeves. “She’s been introducing me to every woman of marrying age. I think she’s afraid I’ll end up alone.”

You can’t help but laugh at his deprecating tone of voice. “We’re young – we’ve still got time.”

“Try telling her that,” he responds. “Being 30 and unmarried is one of the worst things you can be in her eyes.”

You chat with Petre between introductions for the next couple of hours. He sticks close by his mother which keeps him close to you, as Tessa demands everyone that walks by to greet you. Countless faces come and go, but there seems to be someone missing.

You turn to Tessa when the party seems to be winding down and a few people have started to leave. “Where’s your daughter?” you question.

“Kerri and Chrissie are right over there,” she nods, indicating the two young women in a cluster a few feet from you.

“Yes, I remember them from a little while ago. Where’s your other daughter? Sasha?”

At this, Tessa’s face drops and Petre looks at her worriedly. He places his arm around his mother’s shoulders and brings her into his side. “She’s not well,” Petre answers for his mother. “She has been sick for a while now.”

“Oh. Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s – it’s alright,” Tessa responds with a sorrowful smile. “She’s at home. Resting.”

“Well I hope she gets better soon,” you reply hopefully. Petre and Tessa nod tersely before steering the conversation off to something else.

It isn’t long after that when you feel Bucky sidle up next to you. He places his hand on your upper arm and pulls you closer into his side. “You ready to go?” he questions.

You hum and say your goodbyes to the people standing around you, promising to come out with Tessa to more gatherings. You and Bucky make your way back out into the cold night, the moon full and bright in the sky.

The car doors close behind you and Bucky starts the engine. You rumble along the road for a few minutes before Bucky says anything.

“Who were you talking to all night?” he asks you.

“Ah.” You sigh. “That was Tessa’s eldest son. The one she mentioned at dinner.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And…?”

“You were with him all night – what was he like? Anything seem off with him?”

You’re not exactly sure what Bucky is getting at, as he’d been talking with a couple of the same people throughout the night as well. “Well no, but it’s not like I could dig any deeper than surface level with so many people coming in and out of the conversation.”

Bucky hums noncommittally. You furrow your brow, but brush it off. “Did you find anything out from Christopher?”

“Not really. I did notice that one of his daughters wasn’t there tonight. Sarah?”

“Sasha,” you correct. “And no, I asked about her, as well. Petre and Tessa seemed really bothered when I brought her up: apparently she’s been pretty sick lately.”

“How sick?” Bucky asks.

“I’m not sure. It didn’t seem like they wanted to talk about it, though.”

“You think she’s been sick enough to require hospital stays?” he proposes, leading the conversation towards what could have possibly happened to the family’s financials that has lead to their worn down clothing and home.

“It’s worth looking into, isn’t it?”

Part 9

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #sorry i love you

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tia-222 · 9 months

Note

I want to share a technique for the void! I don't remember what it's called but it works wonders.

It's called the sslid method for lucid dreaming in case anyone wants to do more research on it!

Ahh tysm , I was tryna find the name for it ♡. Your a life saver :^).

Ok, guys so I researched the method soon as I saw this ask and came across this entire guide on it. I'll copy and paste it here, so everyone can see<3.

Link to the original post

SSILD (Senses Initiated Lucid Dream) lucid dream technique :

" SSILD is a modern lucid dreaming technique. It is easy to learn, highly effective, and produces consistent results over period. I developed this technique in 2011 in order to teach lucid dreaming to fellow dreamers on a Chinese forum. The first written version of the technique was published under the title “太玄功”, which literally translates to “A Very Mysterious Technique”. This is rather fitting because at the time no one had the faintest idea why it worked. Despite this lack of theory, the feedback on the technique was overwhelmingly positive. Within just a few months we gathered many hundreds of success stories"

The core component of SSILD is called a “Cycle”. Each cycle consists three steps:

Focus on Sight: Close your eyes and pay attention to the darkness behind your closed eyelids. Don’t strain your eye muscles though. Your eyeballs should be resting, totally relaxed. If you don’t see anything that’s only normal. Do not attempt to spot visuals by moving your eyes around.

Focus on Hearing: Further relax your eyes and shift your attention to your ears. If the room is quiet enough you might be able to hear some noise inside your head or the sound of your heartbeat. However, if you can’t hear anything it is okay to listen to external sounds too

Focus on Somesthetic Senses (Touch): Direct your attention to your body. Feel it and see if you spot any unusual sensations such as tingling, heaviness, lightness, spinning sensations, and so on. If nothing like these can be felt, you can also try to feel the weight of the blanket, your heartbeat, temperature of the air, etc.

The repeated stimulation on the senses enables SSILD to condition our mind and body into a subtle state that is optimized for lucid dream to occur naturally. We should keep this in mind so we don’t make the common mistake of “trying too hard” during the cycles. Beginners usually want to see things, hear things, and feel things. When nothing unusual happens they become discouraged or even desperate. Avoid this mistake at all cost! One should not expect to experience anything phenomenal during the Cycle. In fact, it is better to expect NOTHING at all will happen.

The Steps :

Go to bed early, preferably before 11pm. Set your alarm to wake up after 4 or 5 hours.

Get out of bed and stay awake for 5-10 minutes. I suggest you visit the bathroom, rinse your mouth, and walk around or stretch a little bit. Try not to become too awake though.

Return to bed and lie down in a comfortable position, preferably different from the one you usually use. This is to prevent you from falling into sleep prematurely. However, if you are the type of person who requires extra effort to fall asleep, you may want to use the usual position instead.

Perform the “Cycle” quickly, repeat 4-6 times. This serves as a warm-up exercise so each step should be very short, a few seconds should be sufficient.

Perform the “Cycle” slowly, repeat 3-4 times. This step is the most important one. You should take extra time during each step. Thanks to step 4, at this point you should have become sufficiently relaxed and you will find focusing on the senses become much easier. For example, your eyes will feel more relaxed, and you may get visuals such as lights, colors, or movements. You might also notice that the external sounds seem to be fading into the background. Do not get excited though. You should observe quietly and after a while move on to other senses. As far as timing goes we are flexible, but in general each step should take no fewer than 30 seconds.

#ask answered #anon ask #void state #void state tips #void state methods #lucid dreaming #lucid dreaming to enter the void state #lucid dream technique #Manifestation #Subconscious

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freshfraise · 1 year

Text

I’M YOURS

pairing: richarlison x reader

summary: Y/N is a journalist arriving at a team training to carry out an interview for her new article. The training seems to be unproductive for many reasons, the main reason being that the team contains her vehement Ex- boyfriend, Richarlison.

author’s note: jealous and protective richarlison!! suggest listening to “im yours” by isabel larosa whilst reading… enjoy! + apologies for any bad portuguese

I’m guided into the stadium by a stern security guard, harsh white lights reflecting my canary yellow team shirt. My heeled boots reverberate across the stadium alerting any individuals nearby of my appearance. Clutching my microphone, and my question prompts in my hand, I take a deep breath and brush off any debris off my dark jeans.

I knew he was here. Me and Richarlison “split” exactly six months ago today. Although the split was mutually agreed upon, we both knew that it wasn’t the end of our journey, leading to an embarrassing amount of one night stands and drunken rekindling in the first month. He missed me. I missed him. But we were both too proud to admit it. The past five months I made the decision to refrain from interacting with him which meant ignoring his amorous messages and frantic calls in the dead of night. I watched him from afar, viewing his Instagram on my specially curated spam account. Parties, Girls and chasing a new high seemed to be all of his worries.

The reason why I ended things was because I needed to focus on my career. At the time I was dating him, I was a local journalist from Brazil, dreaming of doing better things and now I’m about to interview one of the best football teams in the world. I made sure that these six months without him didn’t go to waste. And naturally, I was led back to him.

Finally, I arrived on the pitch, watching from the stands designed for other journalists like me. Looking around, I realised I was the only woman in this area, making me extremely conscious of my every move. The team wasn’t on the pitch yet, so I decided to make my way to the bathroom quickly. My nerves were rattling me but I couldn’t let that be known. Asking a guard for directions, I quickly make my way towards a bathroom.

I stare into a mirror, viewing my change. I couldn’t tell if I was better without him or with him. My dark curly hair laid past my shoulders, my lips painted a dark crimson red. I felt different and my appearance reflected that. Scanning over my questions and making sure I was camera ready, I repeated the aim of the trip. I was interviewing Brazilian player on the psychological and manual preparation going towards the Copa América.

Leaving the bathroom in a rush, I hear whispers of Portuguese. Alarm bells ring in my head, as I begin to realise I am not in the correct area.

“Quem é essa beleza?” (Who is this beauty?) I hear a player question, I turn my head around locking eyes with Neymar Jr. I smile awkwardly and begin to scan my areas to make my way back. I clearly wasn’t in the right area and needed to make my way back as the players were obviously out on the pitch.

Sitting down, I get a phone call from my manager, going over everything I need to get done. The camera crew sat next to me, adjusting lenses and positioning. Although I was the only woman, I was thankful I had familiar faces around. In comparison to usual, there were significantly less journalists, myself being one of five.

Training begins, and I see Neymar and Richarlison conversing. Neymar seemed to be raving on about something whilst Richarlison looks around, seemingly trying to understand what he is referencing. This is quickly disbanded as the coach tells them to run laps alongside their team. I make the executive decision to go film some montages and introductions with the players in the background.

I walk down the steps, arriving against the barricade. I was wary of how close I was to Richarlison but I attempted to not let that phase me. My lanyard dangling around my neck, I make a signal to the camera crew to begin.

“Olá, eu sou Y/N Y/L/N, and today I am here with the Brazilian national team as they train for the Copa América. Attempting to attain the title once again, I am here to learn how the players are coping with pressure, and the mental and physical aspects going towards the tiresome process.” I finish ending with a smile. The crew puts up a thumbs up as I drop my microphone from my face, looking behind me.

I lock eyes with Neymar once again but my attention is drawn towards Richarlison. He stares into me, his mouth slightly agape. His eyebrows slightly furrow, almost as if he doesn’t recognise me, his eyes differ as flickers of familiarity scan his brown irises.

I feel statute, as Neymar begins to talk to me yet I don’t even process it. Richarlison comes towards me in a couple strides, and my breath catches in my throat, before I realise I’m going back up the stairs towards the seats.

I feel Neymar 's eyes glued into my back watching me go, before I hear Richarlison say, “Esta é a garota de quem você estava falando? Você falou da minha garota assim na minha frente? Fique longe dela antes que eu cause problemas.” (This is the girl you were talking about? You talked about my girl like that in front of me? Stay away from her before I cause trouble.)

I already knew that this wasn’t going to end well, and as expected they were grabbing each other's shirt collars in their hands. On the verge of pulling punches. Richarlison was acting foolish, talking to his idol like that.

“Problemas, sim? Você é louco? Você esqueceu com quem está falando?” (Problems, yeah? Are you crazy? Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?) Neymar replies, tapping the temple on his forehead.

Flared noses and a string of curses in Portuguese, it was getting escalated to the point where other team members were coming to diffuse the situation. The journalists on my side began to take note of the situation, beginning to redirect their focus on to the fight, at least ten different cameras facing them now. This was going to look really bad in the press, two of Brazil’s key players in the midst of a fist fight, this is not the type of tension needed before a massive tournament.

I don’t even realise I’m making my way down there, but now I am already by the barricade attempting to calm the situation. Instinctually, I place my hand on his shoulder, and call out “Rich, por favor, venha comigo.” (Rich, please come with me.)

This is the first time I’ve talked to him in months and it showed. His grip began to loosen, his breathing began to calm and his attention focused on me. I felt so guilty even though I shouldn't have, this was Richarlison’s fault starting conflict with his teammates. He got off Neymar and practically stormed out of training. I followed him out quickly attempting to catch up but he was walking as fast as a bullet.

He stopped at the changing room, before kicking benches down. I jumped, not expecting his sudden angered movements. I stood still as if I was planted in the floor, like an old oak tree in arid soil. I’ve never seen him this angry. I don’t respond well to anger at all, and he knows this. He continues to throw things off shelves and the room turns into a mess. I call out his name, hoping for a response but there’s nothing. Just pure rage. He slowly begins to realise my state, as he locks eyes with me.

He comes towards me, and embraces me whole. He wraps his muscular arms around my head and holds my waist close. I smell him, and hold him close before pushing him away.

“What do you want from me?” I ask, tired of his contrasting emotions and actions. His breath catches in his throat.

“Your hair is different.” He comments, scanning my curls. A sly smirk is plastered on his face, his eyes dropping to my lips. Completely avoiding the question, I sigh and begin to make my way back to the pitch.

“Wait.” He grabs my hand back from leaving, pulling me inside efficiently. He cups my jaw, and kisses me on forehead lightly.

“Eu nunca parei de te amar. (I never stopped loving you.) I hate it when other guys touch you, or say your name. Love makes me stupid, stupid enough to hit my own idol. I want you all to myself. Eu sei que sou egoísta. (I know I’m selfish.) I regret agreeing to split, but I was scared that if I didn’t leave you a little bit, I would lose you completely. And I would never forgive myself. You are the only one for me. My Mãe and my Pai? They love you more than they love me.”

I chuckle, before a tear threatens to spill. I wipe it before it even escapes my eye.

“I don’t know if we’re good for each other.” I laugh and shake my head. “Mas, eu sou seu.”

#richarlison #neymar #njr #neymar jr #richarlison imagine #imagines #football imagines #football #footballer #neymar imagines #brazil #brazil football

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oyesmendes · 1 year

Text

heartbreak anniversary

a/n: just saying, i may break your heart... and this has barely anything to do with the song...

masterlist

pierre is laying flat on his back, eyes tracing the wallpaper lined on the ceiling. he never thought wallpapers should be put up there, but that wasn't what you thought. the intricate details of the slightly reflective material curving the white background reminded him of stars in the sky, the shining light in darkness. he remembers the exact day you picked this out, lugging the entire roll through the front door.

"mon amour, what are you doing?" pierre asked worriedly, helping you to pull the roll through the door.

"wallpaper! thought it'd look good on the ceiling." your forehead was covered in sweat, but you still grinned at him lovingly.

"wallpaper on the ceiling? what for? our walls are painted just fine."

"oh just wait till i stick it up there."

"careful, mon ange." he warns.

you look down at him smiling, "i'll be okay, pierre."

the door bell rings, and that's pierre's cue to snap back to reality. he trudged to the front door, opening it to reveal charles, holding a case of beers and takeout.

"i'm really not in the mood, charles." pierre tells him as he walks straight into the house.

charles chucks the beer in the fridge, "well, i honestly couldn't care. you need to get out of this foul mood you've been in for the last month."

"i broke up with her, don't expect me to be popping champagne." pierre mumbles.

"yeah, you made a mistake. mourn, then get over it."

mistake. yeah, he made a grave mistake. pierre plops himself on the couch while charles pulls out plates for the both of them, piling each one with food. he hands one of them to pierre - chinese takeout from your favourite restaurant. but he couldn't blame charles, the boy wouldn't have known a mere chao mien could bring up unwanted memories.

charles takes a seat next to him, "she's in milan, yknow. walking for dior and versace next week."

pierre nearly drops his chopsticks, but he turns to look at charles.

"how did you know?" his friend looks at him sympathetically, but turns back to his plate.

"i had dinner with her and charlotte a couple of days ago. she was in monaco."

pierre doesn't respond, a silence falling between them. he thinks to the time they went on double dates, travelling the world together, doing the things they loved. they made a great friend group, if only he didn't fuck up.

"she's doing okay, pierre." charles finally says. pierre hums in response.

"you fucked up, but she's doing okay. she's moving on, maybe you should too."

fucked up. that was the understatement of the year. he more than royally fucked up, pierre knew he broke the one good thing he had going on in his life just because of a bad night.

"i can't believe you, pierre gasly. i can't fucking believe you." you pace the walls of the room, anger boiling in your chest.

"we had one bad argument, then you get on the plane without me - fly home and find some chick?!" you shouted, almost screamed at him. pierre sat on the couch with his head in his hands. he hasn't seen you this angry in the two years he's known you.

"i'm sorry, mon ange. i'm sorry, i'm so sorry." he shakes his head, repeating the words over and over again.

"what were you thinking? do you still want to do this?" your voice cracks, and god knows you're trying so hard not to cry. pierre's head shoots up at your words, and he grabs your wrist.

"don't leave, mon amour. i still want us, i still want you."

you pull away from him, crossing your arms in front of you, "i don't think you do, pierre."

"i do, i really do." the pain in his voice was unbearable to you, and the tears started to fall.

"then why did you do that, why did you even bring her to see your mom? how could you do such a thing?"

"i-i didn't, you have to trust me on this, mon ange. we were at a cafe, and saw my mom- and i- we-" pierre had tears in his eyes, he was choking on every emotion he was feeling in his body. he wanted to scream at those damned paparazzi, following his every move; if the pictures didn't leak, maybe none of this would've happened.

"i don't know if i can trust you anymore." although it was sort of a relief, hearing that he didn't exactly mean for his mother to see that woman, you still felt so stuck, so in pain that the one person you trusted with your whole life had betrayed you, just like that.

"please, mon ange." he begged.

"i''m sorry, pierre."

"it's our third anniversary tomorrow." pierre finally says.

charles looks at pierre, and he can't quite decipher his emotions - was it sadness, pain or anger? he squeezes his best friend's shoulder, "it'll be okay, you will get through this."

will he though? no one actually knew. not pierre, not charles, not even the gods above. charles gathers both their plates - his empty, pierre's barely touched, and puts them in the dishwasher. he contemplates getting a beer for both of them, but decides against it as he watches his best friend stare into empty space.

charles sighs, "i'm gonna let you have the space. i'll see you next week, pierre."

"thank you for dinner." was all that pierre managed to say. his friend smiles at him, "it's the least i could do."

midnight strikes and pierre is still laying on the couch, tear stains on his cheeks, and his ragged breathing returning to normal. he picks up his phone to check the time, and the dreadful notification is on the top of his screen.

💕third anniversary!!💕

he doesn't know why he needed to set up a god damn calendar notification, because everyone knew that was the one day in the year no one could touch. he almost throws his phone to the ground in anger but he stops himself, unlocking the screen and going straight to your name. your contact was saved with a picture of you in his helmet at the very first race you were invited to, your eyes were glistening with joy. it was one of his favourite pictures, though he could barely see your face, he could feel the happiness even through the screen. he taps on the keypad carefully, making sure there were no typos, no mistakes.

joyeux troisième anniversaire, mon amour. tu me manque.

happy third anniversary, my love. i miss you. hit send. the deed was done. he couldn't turn back now. the screen dims for a moment, then lights up, three hopeful dots changes the mood in the room immediately. he watches the text bubble move, then disappear; move, then disappear.

it takes an hour, whole sixty minutes before his phone vibrates again. immediately pierre grabs his phone, fumbling with the screen to get to your message. it's only one sentence, but he didn't expect it to break his heart all over again.

j'espère que tu vas bien Pierre

i hope you are doing well, pierre. nothing more, nothing less. and it hurts. like a knife to his chest, it hurts like hell. pierre pushes his phone onto the coffee table, dragging his body through the house and into the room. he practically throws himself on to his unmade bed, burying his head in his pillow.

he was defeated, and he felt in his heart that this was the end. there was no return for you and him. this was goodbye, he thought to himself. this was the sign he needed to move on.

but the phone buzzes once more.

tu me manques aussi

i miss you too.

taglist: @primadonnasdream @dr3lover @chicadelapartamento512-blog @thebagginsofbaggend @d0ntjudgemy50shades @cowspew @justthatgirlxox @ggaslyp1 @fromthedeskofjoii @lorenakaspersen @words-4u @o0itsjustme0o @totowolfff @gulsolsikke @enjoymyloves @rmaddens @care2703 @katcontrreras @tattered-tales @piceous21 @kyomihann @sgkophie @idkiwantchocolatee @bigdiccricc @organasith @anthonykatebridgerton @icecoldtires @vamossainz55 @ophcelia @dudde-44

let me know if you would like to be removed/added to the taglist!!

#pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly #pierre gasly fluff #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 imagine

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tired-biscuit · 1 year

Text

Bite

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Kiba/fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ mdni, modern AU // werewolf!kiba, monsterfucking, size kink, biting kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight a/b/o themes [mf has a knot], pregnancy talk, mentions of blood. established relationship, they are very cute.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 10.5k

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻, 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘀. 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴!!

𝗞𝗜𝗕𝗔 decides to share his secret with you on Halloween.

He doesn’t know why he wants to tell you on October 31st, exactly. Perhaps it is that the matter at hand is rather fitting for the spooky season, or maybe because the last two functioning brain cells inside his head are telling him that you’ll be able to cope with it better this way – his peculiar way of thinking is something that nobody but him seems to make sense of.

So, it takes Kiba four years and three months to make the final decision. It may seem like a long time to some, but to him the years pass by swiftly. He spends them all by learning about how your mind functions and by gathering his wits. By hiding every full moon and ghosting you completely with zero explanation. By persuading himself that that same mind he is so very fond of picking apart and piecing back together, will be the one that will accept him for who – what – he is.

And as spring turns to summer and autumn falls victim to the icy clutches of winter, Kiba stalls. Year after year, your relationship grows like a sturdy vine taking over the walls of an abandoned building with the change of the seasons. The cycle repeats itself for the second, third, fourth time around, and Kiba still keeps changing his mind.

He almost tells you sooner than planned, but then he worries. Grows agitated because of said worrying. Stalls even more. Almost gives up, and thus nearly abandons you as a result at some point as well.

You don’t know anything about that, of course.

But no matter what he picks and chooses, something makes him stay put. Kiba can’t quite explain the reasoning as to why. It might be that he’s immensely loyal. Or the fact that he’s in love. Maybe you’re his person. Perhaps it’s in his blood. He doesn’t know what it is, but he lingers because of it. Wraps his arms around you and falls even deeper. So deep, in fact, that he can’t possibly find his way back to the surface and moral reasoning anymore.

And because of it, he feels scared when the day he has to tell you his secret finally comes. Absolutely petrified. But he trusts you now, he’s positive about that. Nearly half a decade of being so close has done its job.

And he hopes, nearly prays to a god he’s long since lost belief in, that after all of this is over, you’ll still trust him, too.

—

Much to Kiba’s misfortune, that doesn’t happen.

You don’t trust him anymore.

“Oh, my… You we-were actually being serious for once, huh?” The words are spoken barely above a whisper by someone who you think is you, despite that you swear you’re on the brink of screaming your lungs out.

Everything is quiet chaos. Standing in the middle of your bedroom, it’s a struggle to breathe properly; you can’t even get an exhale out, much less a shout. The moment your boyfriend’s supposed prank turns out to be a truth so gruesome that it makes your jaw drop, you’re feeling like your legs are giving in. To say you were on the verge of fainting would be an understatement.

You feel like you’re going to die.

It all happens exactly how he’s told you it would, but that doesn’t help. Staring at the thing that used to be your boyfriend just mere moments before the pale moonlight had seeped past the curtains, you still find yourself frozen into place from the shock and terror that begin to course your veins in fast, pulsating waves.

The movie you were watching together on your laptop is still playing. Background music and dialogue fills the tense air between you and is the only sound present besides his deep breathing and the ferocious pounding of your heart; which you swear you can feel climbing up your throat now.

The movie is playing – time certainly hasn’t stopped. But you wish it did.

He’s just so big, after all. Huge in every aspect, he’s nothing like himself and you’re barely keeping pieces of your sanity sticking together because of the intimidating stature he possesses now. He’s broad, the slopes of his shoulders are potent and the curve of his biceps is so defined that you’d have trouble wrapping both hands around just one. There’s no way your fingers would touch whilst hugging it – you’re positive.

And goodness, he is heavy. So fucking heavy, in fact, that the mattress sinks below him, and the wooden framing of the bed gives a prolonged creak of protest because of the triggering weight when he picks himself up.

Watching them stretch and relax repeatedly, you suppose you’re used to seeing the strong limbs and the rippling muscle, even if it currently hides underneath thick, coarse fur. And it may be just a hint of familiarity soothing you now, but panic still flashes through your very soul when he stumbles on his hind legs as soon as his feet land on your carpeted flooring.

Standing at his full height, your boyfriend – or rather the thing that used to be your boyfriend – appears even taller now. Its enormous stature makes dread trickle down the back of your sweaty neck, because god-fucking-damn it; the top of its head is nearly touching the fucking ceiling.

But it's still Kiba, or that’s at least what you keep telling yourself. This creature is still your lover, even if his clothes are torn and his entire body is sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the furniture of your bedroom that just appears toyish when compared to him.

And now, his arms flail around in the same manner his tail does. Wagging from side to side, it’s a brief moment of alarm as he attempts to catch his balance like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. But he’s not a child; he isn’t even human. Every clumsy footstep he takes on the carpet is like a dull thud of thunder because of how hefty he is. It seems that even he, himself, isn't quite used to his new body just yet. And it’s almost cute in a way.

Almost.

Still, cute or not, the entire situation makes your breath hitch and forces you to take a cautious step back when he turns towards you at long last and just looks at you.

Staring right back at him, you’re not sure if you like having his attention on you all of a sudden. So you stand more firmly, lift your hands into a shield of sorts – as if that could fucking stop this monster of a wolfman if he ever did make the decision to tear you to shreds and swallow you whole – and just breathe.

You just can’t help it. Stepping back and causing more distance feels like a survival instinct, because he is just that – a monster. You don’t do it on purpose, it seems, but the reason for it is because of the more uncanny features he possesses. And those features frighten you right to the bone, whether you want them to or not.

The tail is on top of that list of reasons, of course. But it’s also the eerie height. How he stands and walks like a human, but isn’t one. The triangle-shaped ears atop his head and the set of honed claws on each broad, paw-like hand. The chestnut fur. How his eyes are now yellow instead of a golden brown.

Speaking of his eyes: they glow in the silvery moonlight. The pupils inside dilate sideways whenever a shadow crosses them, and both are so sharp that they’d do a better job at piercing through you than the point of the sharpest blade ever could.

The thought makes your skin pull taut and your heartbeat thump inside your mouth this time around. You can feel it rattling behind your teeth, which you’re clenching so hard that your entire jaw is beginning to hurt. Even the saliva that has gathered on top of your tongue is hard to swallow from how thick it’s become laced with fear now.

Your entire body is shouting at you to run away.

But you can’t run. You’ve sprouted roots into the ground by giving him the promise of staying no matter what happens, and you simply can’t break it; can’t run. You’re here to stay, because perhaps you’re even more loyal than he is.

So it’s just you.

And the werewolf.

The big bad werewolf.

“H-Hey,” you croak out feebly after what seems like ages, upper lip trembling in pure fear. He’s still staring at you; unmoving. Just breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. Other than the rise and fall of his shoulders, he’s so still that it’s making you feel on edge. “You–...” Your brow furrows as you try again, “You in there, Kiba?”

The sound of his name being spoken into the air makes him perk up. And it’s feeble relief that washes over you now as you finally release a shuddering breath. Like a sign that your boyfriend remembers at least some part of his human psyche, you watch as one of his ears twitches before he tilts his head to the side like your neighbour’s German Shepherd tends to do whenever it snows outside for the first time.

It’s curiosity in its finest form, but despite him recognizing his name, you’re still worried. Especially because that curiosity makes him come closer. Makes his attention shift solely onto you ever so slowly; the only living, breathing thing left inside this house besides him.

You certainly hope it’ll stay that way by the end of the night. With both of you still breathing.

Because footstep after footstep, Kiba’s balance goes from inept to completely fine by the time he backs you up against the wall and just keeps staring at you.

The yellow in his irises makes his eyes sublime. Shadows dance inside them as he approaches, turning them dark then light again. The size difference between you is so profound that he has to stoop down just to reach eye level with you. Practically looming over you, you feel like you’re about to start crying any second.

His pupils dilate immediately after eye contact is established and your own turn foggy from the tears that are beginning to gather at your waterline, threatening to spill. Black consumes the yellow; swallows it whole. Until you can nearly see yourself in the reflection of the void.

And even if he’s told you what to expect when he’s like this, even if you’ve nodded and laughed at the warnings he’s tried to get across because you couldn’t have possibly taken them seriously: as soon as you come face to face with this supernatural being, you’re simply terror-struck.

And you don’t trust this being. Don’t trust it at all.

But every moment is used for his benefit. He’s starting to learn about your mannerisms. You’re standing still as a statue, fear lacing your scent so profoundly that he feels the need to dip in and hide his face into the crook of your neck just so he can smell it better.

So seconds pass: one, two, three. He breathes in your scent so that he can memorize it. Rests a paw on the curve of your hip as gently as he’s able, even though you can still feel its immense weight and the way the claws dig into your skin right through your t-shirt despite the mellow effort. He can’t retract them, but they’re still so sharp that you have no doubt he could tear right through the thin cotton in mere seconds if he wanted to, along with everything else underneath.

Your stomach twists because of it. If he scratches or cuts you by accident and smells your blood as a result, you have no clue what’ll happen. He’s never told you about that possibility.

And perhaps it’s just a gut feeling, but something tells you he had good reason for it.

Eyes blown wide, shoulders shaking with the fast-paced, never-ending series of inhales and exhales that you can’t seem to slow down for the life of you, you’re letting out a quivering whimper that makes your entire face twist in reluctant disturbance. He’s just too close, too unnatural. Too demanding to know you better, and thus too pushy.

So you try to push him away to cause more distance between your bodies because you can’t focus, can’t breathe. But holy fuck, every hair on your body prickles and stands up to attention when instead of having him take a step back, you just hear him growl in response.

He doesn’t like that; the snarl and the flash of big, sharp teeth tells you all you need to know as his upper lip curls and reveals the gleaming white underneath. Doesn’t appreciate you shoving him away like he’s unwanted and scary, when all he wants to do is to be close to you and just breathe you in. Just that, he isn’t even thinking about hurting you.

But you don’t know that. Can’t understand him either.

Listening to the growl as it slowly dies down, it’s a quiet sort of sound that comes from the depths of his chest and rumbles in the back of his throat. Like the noise a dog makes before it’s about to go absolutely nuts at any given second, except that it’s deeper, more threatening; a warning to come from a provoked beast much larger than your poor self. The series of vibrations it sends through you makes your teeth rattle inside your skull and your skin pull even tighter over your bones from how deeply it fazes you.

And when you whimper out of fear again, the tears spilling over your hot cheeks, it makes him freeze. You’re scared – scared of him – so he pulls back, looks at your sweat-riddled face, as well as the fright it exhibits, and looses a freaking sigh now. As if he’s upset by your reaction, perhaps even disappointed, the low grumble to follow right afterwards only adds to the discontent he feels for you.

And you; you’re staring up at him, sniffling and trying to blink away the blur in your eyes now whilst your entire body is literally shaking.

He’s the one that’s displeased? After scaring the literal shit out of you and making you cry, he is the one that gets to grumble about it like some senile, old grandpa whenever his grandkids get caught doing something naughty? You can’t believe the nerve of this man. Wolf. Wolfman? Werewolf.

It seems that Kiba remains a crabby douche no matter what form he’s in. And it is him; your grouchy boyfriend is actually still somewhere in there – looking at you worryingly through pupils that remind you of a cat’s, and owning a body so powerful that it could turn your entire house to rubble if it went on a rampage.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choke out at the thought, carefully reaching out to place your hand on his chest again, but this time to appease him instead of shoving him away and provoking him again. “I just–... I wasn’t expecting this, ‘kay? Try and understand how I feel about this.”

Just breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe – in and out. He’s less scary already.

He perks up at your words again, his paw covering your hand entirely when he presses it more closely to his heart so that you can feel the rhythm of his pulse better. The knuckles are nearly human, as well as the digits that bend and curl over your own now; just covered in fur and equipped with those menacing claws you’re still continuously flicking a wary eye towards every few seconds.

Fingers tangling into rough chestnut fur, his heartbeat is so strong and other-wordly that it makes you sick in a way. It beats faster than any human heart – rhythm quick and potent enough that it kisses the pads of your fingers every time it hits.

It’s like the damn muscle is jumping and bouncing off the sides of his ribcage as he grumbles once more in answer, this time more in agitation than anything else. He can’t even speak proper English with you, or any other human language whatsoever, and yet you’re starting to understand him perfectly just from the faces he’s making and the noises of irritation coming from the back of his throat every once in a while.

“What,” you whisper, feeling dizzy from the heat his body gives off, “what is it?” It’s as if his very blood has come to a boil, is starting to sizzle like oil on a frying pan underneath all of that muscle and skin. He’s practically burning up, warming your entire bedroom by merely existing. It’s making your vision spin before your very eyes.

So he clutches your hand harder when you look like you’re about to faint; pushes it even closer to his heart. And when you look more stable, like the touch grounds you in a way, he circles his free paw around his face – that uncanny, strange face – and presses it to your own chest. To your own heart.

“What?” His hand, if you could call it that, is so big that it covers the entirety of your ribcage. Thumb to pinky; he’s touching you from one end to the other. You have trouble breathing at the realization of his immense size. “Is there so-something wrong with my heart?”

He shakes his head in answer. Repeats the action of circling his face, but then he stops and pauses for a moment. Contemplates. Pointing to his twitching ear this time around, he does it a few times before pressing the paw to your heart again.

Puzzled, you blink at him, attempting to understand what he’s miming to you as he starts pointing to his ear again. “Are you… Are you saying that you can hear my heart?”

He nods feverishly now, tapping his digits against the middle of your chest a couple of times in the exact same rhythm your heart beats inside your ears, paying heed that he doesn’t strike you with his claws by accident.

“It’s fast, yeah,” you mumble hesitantly. “Nothing like yours, though.”

And now, much to your surprise, he whines in reply; sounding like a little puppy when it yawns with that squeal-ish sort of sound. As if he’s not happy at all with your statement.

Your brow quirks because of it. “You don’t like that it’s fast?”

Kiba shakes his head again.

“Why?”

You frown when he just points to his face again and drops his eyes to the floor. He taps you over your heart only once this time; gently. Like he’s afraid he might break you in two if he uses any more force, the click of his claws only gives you more proof that he could.

And it’s sort of soothing – him caring enough to be this cautious. It calms you, coaxing you to warily place your hand upon his own and say, “I’m not scared of you anymore, Kiba.”

You mean it. Even if your body is still stiff as a board; you mean it.

But all he does is grumble again. Incoherent, rumbling sounds that make you chuckle almost as his tail drops limp between his legs. Your lips are twitching as you speak again, “I’m serious, my heart is beating so fast only ‘cause I love you so much, and ‘cause I’m worried about you. I mean, baby, you have a tail, for Christ’s sake. Come to think of it… Does it hurt when it grows out?”

What a lucky girl you are, your statement makes him growl for a third time as his paw drops from your chest and rests on the curve of your hip instead. If he weren’t so big and unpredictable, you’d bash his head in for being so fussy. “Stop making that noise, y-you’ve gotta cut me some slack! At least I didn’t run away and called the cops! Or, ya know… Animal control, since you’re… Well… Yeah.”

The look he gives you now just spells that sarcastic ‘Funny.’ even though he really is more animal than human. He’s nearly slouching, curving his broad back just to remain face to face with you, and when you’re about to open your mouth to retaliate, because being witty is just how you’ve decided to cope and be comfortable around him, nothing but a squeak pushes past your lips instead.

Because now, Kiba lifts you up – so swiftly and effortlessly that you’re amazed in a way, even if it’s nothing surprising if you take his sheer size into consideration. Paws wrapping around your hips, you can feel his claws dig into the plush fabric of your pyjama shorts, but never tearing, as he tosses you over his shoulder and just keeps you there.

Like you’re some damsel in distress, hell like he’s Bowser and you’re Princess Peach; he carries you across the room as if you’re light as a feather.

You squeak out this high-pitched sort of noise when he throws you onto the bed. Squirming around, you try to back up against the headboard, but he grabs you by the ankle and just pulls you closer as he falls onto the mattress himself.

Nearly cringing at the second creek of protest the wooden framing gives to his weight, your own objections are stifled as his arms wrap around you like armor and he attempts to make himself seem smaller – badly. One paw-like hand rests on your middle now, giving you a single push until you’re firmly pressed against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat thumping right against your spine now. It nearly makes the discs rattle from how strong it is.

And even his tail is wrapping around your hip in almost a protective manner now; warming you up with the heat of his body and the thickness of his fur. You’re sweating after mere seconds, the coat of salt thickening the glaze that’s already there as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and just starts breathing in your scent again.

It’s like he’s addicted to the way you smell. Even with the initial tension gone, every grunt that reverberates down your spine is still chill-inducing despite the heat.

Laying next to him in the dark, the rational part of your consciousness screams at you to run and never look back. How you should feel scared; caged in from the way he wraps himself around you and holds you in place. But you don’t. Goddammit, you just don’t. You’ve known him for too long, and he’s just too sweet, even if he looks equally as bitter.

However, when you attempt to turn around to look at him again, he just growls once more. The same as the first time, it’s a warning, but it doesn’t scare you like it did the first time.

Your voice is calm because of it now, “You don’t want me to see you anymore?”

Paw leaving your middle for the briefest moment, you exhale a sigh at how cool his lack of touch feels now as he points at the laptop that’s still laying open on your bed. His body temperature is so high that it makes you burn all over when he touches the sliver of bare skin on your belly.

You swallow the thick saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth again. “The movie, right… Watching movies until you change back, or I fall asleep. Just like you’ve said.”

Fuck, when he pats your stomach in approval and grunts, it just makes you sweat even more. You shouldn’t be thinking about this sort of thing, now should you? About how it’d feel if he were to stroke the naked skin, not just linger on it… If he were to lick it, too. His tongue is probably rougher than normal. It’d hurt, wouldn’t it? Or would it feel good? Oh, and how would it feel if he were to trace your skin with those claws just enough to make you antsy?

As the thoughts ensue, your toes are curling from embarrassment, expectation, arousal – you, yourself, don’t even know from what. This entire thing is so confusing. Are you seriously attracted to a fucking werewolf, or is the heat that’s pooling between your legs only there because this is something new and exciting, and it’s your boyfriend that’s the beast?

The curiosity of humans truly is a wonder. It’s like you truly want to fuck everything that comes your way.

But it seems that Kiba knows what you’re feeling even if you don’t, or perhaps he can smell the change of hormones that lace your blood now. Because as soon as your dainty fingers lightly begin to trace his own thicker ones, seemingly all coy and innocent, he starts to stroke your naked skin in return, too. Gentle swipes that nevertheless make your breath hitch in the back of your throat, he’s sighing at the way your thighs squeeze together in response to his touches.

You’re slowly becoming drenched; he can smell the dopamine on you. The amount is big enough to make his thoughts fuzzy and his dick hard. God, he wants to suck the hormones right out of you.

So he lets his fingers travel higher. Lifts the hem of the shirt you’re wearing with one sharp claw and reaches just the underside of your breast as he strokes even more tenderly. Same movements, different pace and intensity, because he needs to be careful if he wishes to keep you intact and whole.

Minutes pass. He’s stupid, so he’s somehow ended up with both of your tits in his hands; squeezing the fat and flicking the cute nubs ever so gently. Making you squirm. Listening to your quick, little breaths. You’re so needy that it’s amusing in a way.

However, he grunts the moment you roll your hips against his own. Your smell turns him insatiable – you just smell so fucking good, it’s not fair – so he bucks his hips forward and ruts into you once, twice, but then stops immediately when you mewl something delightfully submissive in response and arch your back to feel him even better over your flimsy shorts.

Shit. That sounded so good that it made his ears perk up.

But he’s so big when he’s like this and you’re so small. The ridge of his semi-hard cock that presses against your clothed cunt is already so massive that there is no way your tiny human body would be able to take him in – it is quite literally impossible, no matter how badly you want it to happen. Too enormous for your sweet little pussy, he’d ruin you completely with just one pump if he was to become completely turned on. And you don’t even have a clue about the knot.

Holy fuck, the knot – how could he forget. His heart is racing now at the thought of you taking it willingly, it’s insane how fast it is as he releases you and points towards the laptop again with somewhat shaky digits.

It’s better to stop early. He’s not sure how much sanity he has to spare, the fact that you’re accepting him for who he is; that you are getting fucking aroused by what he thought of as an ugly secret until now is making drool ooze down his sharp teeth. Is making him yearn to push your face into the pillow so that he can just take you doggy style, because it’s, well… Fitting.

He wants to do it painfully slow and rough. Like an animal, the instinct to breed you until you’re his little mate is so acute that it hurts him. Christ, you’ve mentioned wanting kids, now that you’re both in your mid-twenties. Have begun talking more and more about moving in together and starting a family.

And Kiba wants it, too, he truly does. He wants kids, marriage. The chance of coming back to a warm home every single day, and spending the rest of those days with you, now that you know what he is. He’s never been happier because of the fact that you still want him just as badly as he wants you, but how the fuck is he supposed to give you all of that and grant you all of your wishes when he’s a monster?

During the course of your relationship, he’d been nothing but excuses as a result, even if he didn’t want to be. Stalling whenever you had suggested sharing a household. Completely disappearing roughly once a month whenever there was a full moon, even though – much to his luck – you’ve never managed to make the connection. Telling you, ‘Yes, I want kids.’ even though he’d started pulling out the moment you had told him that you got off your birth control.

Seeing the disappointment cross your face each time was hard. He wants kids, fuck, he wants them so bad – it’s in his blood to give you as many as you’ll be willing to have with him, for fuck’s sake. But all of this is complicated. Him feeling scared to give you babies because they’d almost surely be different from the ones you gush over whenever your friends swing by is completely justified.

But now, after you’ve seen him for what he is and have clearly accepted him, just imagining you still wanting kids with him makes his fucking tail want to wag. The way you'd whine and then beg him to cum inside you as your tiny pussy sucks him in, in, in. How you'd spread your legs and let him grab you by the hips until they'd be littered with scratches. How you'd squeal when he'd bite you to keep you still for long enough to make you pregnant with his offspring.

There’d be more than one in this form; he’s sure of it. Sadly, he’s just too big to fit. Perhaps, if you’re willing, you could try when he’s back to normal again.

“But Kiba, I–” Your lips clamp shut the moment he points to the screen again, this time sternly, and exhales this deep, fed-up breath through his nose that tickles your neck and just makes you buzz all over.

He’s even drawn his hips away from you whilst thinking of slamming them in instead. No more rutting – you’re not fucking a monster no matter how bad his need is and how nicely you’ve accepted him. He wants you alive and whole, after all.

And that means: end of discussion.

—

Even in his werewolf form, your boyfriend is as stubborn as ever.

You finish the movie with a frown etched upon your lips that he promptly seems to ignore for your sake. As soon as the credits roll, he makes you watch another one.

Hours pass; fading away into the night, and you feel him growing lighter. Smaller. More human. Changing or not, Kiba still doesn’t allow you to look at him during it. He’s told you that the transformation can be a bit unpleasant to see when you’re not used to seeing it, so you can’t do anything else but comply with his wishes.

And just when you’re on the verge of sleep, consciousness nearly fluttering away into dreamland, do you at long last feel him move.

Thick fingers digging into your t-shirt, he presses himself against you after hours of nothing. “Babe?” He whispers right into your ear, nudging you with the tip of his nose, “You still awake, baby?”

He can speak again.

“Mhmm.” His body is still so warm that you can’t help but feel it lulling you to slumber. “I’m awake.” It’s a bother to stay that way, but you still force yourself to remain conscious by rubbing your cheek into the pillow tiredly. “Can I look at you now…? Please?”

A smile ghosts over Kiba’s lips at the plea you’ve surely been harboring for hours. He’s still not used to you knowing and liking this part of him. He doubts he’ll ever be. “I’m not fully back to normal just yet,” he says, and you can tell, because there’s still this coarse bite to his voice that makes him sound like his teeth are too big for his mouth. “But I think it’s safe enough to look… If you want.”

You don’t ask him if he’s absolutely sure, nor if he’s all right with it. Far too impatient to look at your boyfriend again, you’re swiftly flipping onto your other side to finally lay your eyes on him not even a second after the words of insecurity finish leaving his lips.

His appearance makes your heart start to pound all over again. Not out of fear, though. No, this time it’s thrill – the good kind.

He’s mid-stage, just like he’s said he’d be. Not human just yet, although not full-werewolf anymore either: he’s a being of something supernatural and in-between that you don’t know how to name for the life of you.

He’s still big – bigger than usual – though nearly not as before. The fur is gone, but his hair is still overwhelmingly thick; partially hiding the pointy ears that remain sitting and twitching ever so slightly atop his head. His facial features are back to normal, even if his eyes aren’t. Still yellow, they glow in the dark with those slits for pupils that dilate sideways whenever they make eye contact with you. You can feel the tail as it curls around your hip once more, and can see the fangs when he parts his rosy lips to release a shuddering, anxious breath.

He looks like a hybrid. That’s the word!

“How long?” It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth as you reach up to touch him. He’s completely naked underneath the thin duvet, you can see the pile of torn up clothes on the floor. It’s a good thing he’s brought an overnight bag with him.

“Huh?” Goddammit, he’s so insecure that he flinches when your fingers make contact with his warm, golden skin.

Your gaze turns soft as you trace his cheekbone and utter, “How long have you been like this?”

“Uh,” he mumbles, brow furrowing despite that he tilts his head so that he can lean into your touch better, “ever since I can remember. I was born with the gene.”

“Just you?”

“It… It runs in the family.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Chewing on the tender flesh, your voice is hushed, “And why haven’t you told me?”

He hates admitting his vulnerability to anyone – even you – but he has to if he wants this relationship to work and for the bond to strengthen. So he sighs, voice equally as quiet as he says, “I was scared you’d be disappointed.”

He pauses for a bit now, letting the beat of silence pass. Avoiding eye contact whilst those peculiar yellow eyes flick across your entire room, he seems almost jittery in a way, despite that you’re the harmless human in this situation. God, he hates feeling insecure like this.

You can’t stay still, silent. It’s eating you alive, so you cut into the quiet, “What is it?”

“It’s…” Kiba inhales deeply, shaking his head with a groan that just provokes you further. You’re on the brink of jumping him and shaking him by the shoulders until he spits it out. Luckily for the both of you, you don’t have to do it because now he at long last looks you in the eye and says, “It’s hereditary.”

This time, your roles are reversed and the silence is far longer than the previous beat. A lot longer.

“Say something, sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice strained from nervosity.

“I see.” It’s all you give him and Kiba isn’t sure what the tone means. Either he’s dumb as fuck or he’s just incapable of reading it, it doesn’t matter how sensitive the ears atop his head are – he is still not getting it.

So he asks, “You know what that means?”

Instead of answering, you ask a question of your own, “Is that the reason why you turned all weird when I got off the pill?”

He just nods before his chin dips down, lips pressed into a firm line and shoulders slumped. Oh, boy. Watching how guilty he looks, you almost feel the gears turning inside your head as all the puzzle pieces click and begin to paint the bigger picture you would have never solved on your own otherwise.

And here you were; worrying like some idiot that he was refusing to settle only because he didn’t take you seriously enough.

The entire thing seems so utterly stupid, now that you think about it.

“Is it, like,” your voice breaks before you swallow the saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth. “Is it definite? If we were to have–...”

His expression softens at the worry to glint inside your eyes. “There’s a chance.”

“A chance?”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “It’s not, like, fully definite or anything like that... I mean, Hana isn’t like this, and we’re brother and sister. But there’s still a pretty big chance, ‘cause I’d be the dad and my genes are… Well, they’re more dominant, I guess.”

“They’re more likely to prevail?” you ask, quirking a brow as you place your hand on his warm chest. His heartbeat isn’t back to normal, per se, it just isn’t nearly as fast as it was before. “I think I’ve read that in an article somewhere before. Or a book I was reading… I can’t remember.”

“I don’t like that word; prevail,” he mumbles, the bridge of his nose scrunching in distaste. You can even see his ears flatten until they’re flushed against his head. “Our kiddos would have as much of you in ‘em as much as they’d have me.”

“Yeah, but if they’re like… This,” you trace his chest gently and jerk your chin upwards to make a point, “they’d have more of you in them than they’d have me, right?”

“They could still have your smile. Or your height. Hell, even your eye colour, which is so pretty by the way.” Kiba says, the corners of his lips twitching when you smile at the smooth compliment. “The yellow would only show when they’d turn once a month; and that's to say if they’d turn. I mean, yeah, it’d play a huge part in their lives, being like this, and it would be hard at times… But that side isn’t everything that'd define them, ya know? They’d still be people. Human.”

You’re surprised how mature he is about this – speaking about it as if he’s practiced it in front of the mirror a dozen times before, albeit still sounding just as genuine. Normally, you’d expect him to be unreasonable whilst attempting to shove his head through the wall, but that’s not the case this time around. And thinking about said case; he’s right.

Even if he turns into something unnatural every full moon, he’s still Kiba, no matter the form. He’s still your boyfriend who likes to poke fun at you every chance he gets, who likes to scream with joy at the TV whenever his favourite team scores a point, who always picks chocolate ice cream over vanilla, who’s terrible at making the fitted bed sheet actually fit over the mattress – all of that. Those quirks make him human, and he is just that. He’s a person, just like you.

Though, he’s just proved to you that he’d be a wonderful dad, too.

“I don’t see it as a bad thing, baby,” you say, blushing at the thought whilst cupping his face delicately. “I still love you, even if you look like you’ve just graduated from Monster High.” It’s no wonder he was so good at being a jock, both through high school and college. Always so agile and fast by instinct.

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hilarious.”

You giggle at your own jab. Sigh in content at the kiss he presses to your cheek a moment later. “I still wanna try, you know.”

He stills, warm mouth lingering right next to your temple. “Like… Right now?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper as your fingers tangle into his hair and trace the back of one pointy ear. Like a cat, you’re simply too curious to hold back. You can see them both flatten against his head in an instant as he stiffens above you and groans.

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah.” He pauses to draw in a shaky breath. “Very.”

Well, fuck.

You’re growing hot again, almost feverish at how responsive he is to mere strokes. “Should I not touch them?”

“You can. I’ve just never–... Nnh.” He turns into putty that you hold in your hands the moment you scratch his scalp and trace the shape of both triangles after hearing his approval. They’re surprisingly delicate underneath the pads of your fingers; almost silken to the touch and twitching every time you land contact. “Never had anyone touch ‘em before. It’s different than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

His brain might just burst if you actually take his knot.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be gentle.”

He’s toying with your shirt, claw tugging at the hem whilst attempting to focus. “You seriously wanna try for a baby now?” Turned on so easily and still yearning because of the teasing you gave him before, he can’t think straight.

“Yes,” your answer is confident. Honest. “As long as it’s safe for the both of us, I don’t care if our baby ends up being like you. I’ll still love it, just like I love you.”

God, he could cry at this point. “It’s safe, just a little different... Might hurt a bit ‘cause I’m still pretty big, but I’d never put you in harm's way, you know that, baby.”

Your heart is racing. “How much would it hurt?”

“We’d–...” Goodness, he’s so flustered. “We’d be stuck for a while after we’d be done, like for half an hour… Maybe an hour. It can get a bit uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why would it be uncomfortable?”

“No, like why would we get stuck?”

“Oh.” Heat sears Kiba’s face at your question. He’s looking down at you with a furrowed brow and nearly a frown now. You just look so perfect, hair all messy over the pillow and skin dewy, and here he is about to explain the most humiliating thing ever.

“I, uh… God, this is so embarrassing, but I have a knot, okay? It’s meant for, mm… Basically, it makes me unable to pull out, because it literally hurts us both if I try. And uh–...” He’s nearly scowling now, the poor man. “It just gives us a better chance at having a kid, okay? That’s all you need to know.”

“Wow.” Your eyes grow wide at the crude explanation he’s given like he’s some damn caveman. Pure wooden clubs and unga bunga language, like the definition of Fred Flintstone. “So it’s just like in those fanfics I’ve read as a teen?”

“C’mon, baby, I don’t read that shit.” The pointed look he gives you with those sharp pupils tells you everything you need to know. Nearly makes you laugh. “And you shouldn’t have either, ‘cause listen to the crap you’re spouting while we’re talking about our goddamn future… I mean, seriously.”

“Hah!” The chuckle slips out. “I’m so sorry, Ki. I’ll be good, I promise.”

He rolls his eyes in faux-annoyance. “Aha.”

“C’mon, I wanna try!” The smile that’s forcing itself on your lips is so big. “I want to have a kid, and move in together; all of that… So, do you wanna do it for real this time?”

Something is fluttering inside his chest and stomach at your proposal. Something that makes him light-headed as he looks you dead in the eye and says, “Well, it depends… Are you gonna take my knot?”

Oh, he’s serious now. All intense, his eyes are burning like a forge.

“Yeah,” you whisper, the air suddenly solemn. He doesn’t want you to joke about this. “I will.”

“Yeah?” he whispers back. “Even if it hurts a little? You’ll still take it?”

You wonder what ‘a little’ means to him. No matter. “Mhmm.”

Studying your features for any hint of deceit, he’s breathing hard just thinking about it. “Okay.”

As are you. “Okay.”

Moments pass, and the silence is intimate. However, you start to laugh again the moment his tail starts to wag. He’s just so goddamn red, so adorable. “You excited?”

“Yeah, m’sorry,” he mumbles bashfully. “It has a mind of its own sometimes. Especially when I’m happy.”

“You’re happy ‘cause I’ll take your knot?”

“Overjoyed.”

“That’s cute. Like you’re a good boy, or somethin’.” Heat is crawling up your neck as you look at him underneath your lashes and mumble, “So… How do you want me?”

Fuck, that flusters him even further. Especially because the communication is good and you start touching his ears again. Good boy, good boy, good boy – he really is a good boy. “I, uh… Just lemme…”

But instead of finishing his sentence, Kiba just manhandles you into position. He’s as gentle as he can be, perhaps even respectful, though you still feel heat overtake your body the moment he flips you onto your stomach with complete ease and hovers above you by pinning both arms on either side of you.

He’s still so big; strong. His body covers your own, warmth and that musky scent fogging your senses completely. That alone is enough to make you shove your face into the pillow and push your ass up as high into the air as it’ll go. Like a proper little mate.

You smell so sweet with dopamine that it makes his voice sound rough from how dry it makes his throat as he watches you squirm into position, “I–... I gotta undress you first.”

“Just tear it off.” Your eyes are glazed over when you turn your head to the side to look at him. “It’ll be faster that way.”

The drool he forces down is thick. “You want it that bad?”

“I need it, love. Need all of you.” Even the werewolf side.

“Shit… O-Okay.” Goddammit, you’ve even got his voice to quiver as he does what you ask of him. The collar of your top chokes you for a brief moment as he tugs on the back of it, fingers so eager whilst the cotton starts biting into your neck, but then he releases you the moment the noise of shredding fabric fills the room.

Kiba trails his eyes over your exposed back now. At the way goosebumps cover the smooth skin the moment he traces your spine with the tip of one claw. He can see the sides of your tits as they press against the mattress; all plush-like. It just makes his mouth water all the more. “What about the shorts?”

“Same as the shirt,” you mumble, lifting and wiggling your hips again.

His pupils are overtaking his entire irises. “Underwear, too?”

“Mhmm.”

His tail is wagging again, you can hear the dull thump, thump, thump against the mattress. “Tell me what I ever did to deserve you… For real.”

You could tease him. But this moment is tender, intimate, so you decide against it and just say, “Shush.”

You’re naked in mere seconds after that; he’s slicing through the fabric like it’s butter. And that excites you, especially as he inhales so, so deep and says, “Fuck, baby… What’re you doin’ to me?”

“Nothin’...?” you trail off playfully, smiling into the pillow as you feel your toes curl. His voice is just so coarse; so fueled with passion. You’re dripping just because of the dazed tone alone.

“You smell so fuckin’ good, that’s what you’re doing,” he mumbles, kissing your bare shoulder blade as he tops you. “It’s driving me insane.”

Your eyelids flutter shut at the kisses he keeps peppering all over. “Is your sense of smell better than usual?”

“Yeah.” The tip of his nose presses against your spine, making you giggle when the ends of his hair brush your skin. “I can smell how turned on you are. All that dopamine, fuck… I’m so lucky.”

You chuckle now, “I’m surprised you even know what dopamine is.”

“Tsch. Full of fuckin’ surprises today, aren’t I?” He’s got a smile of his own gracing his features, all charm and pointy fangs. “You need foreplay? I’ve put on lube just now.”

“No,” you utter. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“It’ll still hurt… Even with the lube.” Another kiss to your shoulder, his hips are already meeting yours so that he can align himself with your dripping cunt despite the warning. He’s so impatient to get inside you, after all. “I’m, mm… I’m bigger than usual.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing.

But you’re already buzzing with anticipation; heart racing and fingers gripping the pillow as you feel his cockhead prod at your sopping hole. He’s leaking pre-cum, throbbing and pushing against you and spreading gooey lube everywhere. Waiting for you to say the magic words. “I-I can take it.” I think.

“Good enough for me.”

And it’s true: you can take it. Although just barely.

Every inch that he sinks into you now gives you a stretch that is almost unbearable to endure. His cock is big; fat – it makes you cry. Girthy and thick, you can feel the vein on its underside throbbing inside you as he keeps pushing, pushing, pushing. Slowly and cautiously, his ears are pressing flat against his head again and his tail goes limp from how hard he’s concentrating to make you comfortable and to not go fucking berserk.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Baby,” he whines. Your pussy is literally drooling. Sucking him in, despite that he’s overtaking your capacity so very fast. “You feel s’good, baby. We-... We’ve still got a bit left but we’re almost there.”

Almost? It feels like he’s in your throat already. Like he’s fucking impaled you on his dick, you’re already salivating onto your pillow, with your eyes crossed and your brain numb. You’re breathing hard; panting underneath him. Sweat oozes out of every pore on your body from the effort you’re both putting into making this work. You’re still so small underneath him, so fragile that it makes him nervous. Doesn’t make him stop, of course, but the nerves are enough to make him chew on his lip.

“Goddammit,” you whisper, screwing your eyes shut. His size is gruelling – it’s literally rearranging your insides. “Y-You’re so big, Ki.”

“I’m sorry.” Genuine.

“Too big, baby.” Your breath jumps and stammers as he bottoms out and groans at the wet smack! The mewl you let out right after makes his ears twitch.

“Ah, I’m so sorry.”

He’s apologetic, sweetly kissing your shoulder and the side of your sweaty neck from how bad he feels for making you hurt. But he can still smell the absurd amounts of dopamine coursing your blood. Can smell the merest hints of oxytocin as well. You’re into this as much as he is.

Your bodies are pressing against one another to become one; your back is arching and his hips are dipping in just to be as close as is humanly possible. Limbs entwine, mouths open and close in needy gasps. Even your skin is tightening and hardening as he starts to throb inside your fucking womb.

“I took you in,” you mumble dazedly. “Took you in… All the way.”

“You’re such a good lil’ mate, baby,” he whispers in reply. “Gonna breed you so good as a reward, okay?”

You’re looking at each other the moment your head whips to the side. The eye contact is so intense that it makes your pussy clench around his goddamn monster cock. “Y-Yeah?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” He sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation; hissing through his teeth, making you glance at the sharp incisors. “Gonna give you so many pups... I can’t wait to hold ‘em. Our babies.”

His words warm your soul, not just your heart. You’re a hot mess; all sloppy from the drool and tears he’s making you spill, but it feels so good. Your boyfriend fills you up in a way nobody else ever could, because they’re just people and he’s a species of his own.

A species that stretches your velvet walls to make room for even more cock. That makes you spurt milky slick and gush all over that same dick as it starts to thrust in and out of your warmth, forcing you to moan out the sickest of profanities.

Fuck, you can feel every drag of his girth. Can feel him in your gut whenever he sinks back in, in, in.

Time turns non-existent as he screws you, and not once does he exit you completely. He’s relentless at staying inside you for eons at a time, yes, even when his pace picks up and turns so harsh that you feel like he’ll snap you into two. Even as you start to literally sob into the pillow, and he repeatedly keeps kissing your cervix with that fat cockhead of his in answer. Even when your moans turn into sounds only a fucked-out slut could produce.

He’s fucking you like an animal, even if it’s slow and passionate instead of violent and rough.

“Gonna–...” Your voice is so high-pitched that it makes his ears slant, “Soon, gonna cum real soon…!”

“Yeah, I can smell it,” he grunts, panting quick and hard. “You’re all oxytocin, baby. C’mon, gush.”

“Tryin’-!” Jaw slack, your mouth hangs open as he hits the sweetspot and makes you squeal mid-sentence instead.

“That’s it, pretty. Spill.” He just can’t stop, the way you clamp down on him is too good for words. “Fuck yourself on my dick, c’mon… Just. Like. That.”

You have no clue how he does it, but he somehow manages to make you cum twice in a row. Reaching one peak before heading right towards the other; everything feels so sensitive and tender, raw. You’re on the verge of fainting, or on the cusp of crying – you, yourself, don’t even know which one it is at this point.

And in the midst of all of that, his claws dig into your hips. His teeth find home in your neck and taste blood. Fangs dipped in crimson, he goes absolutely berserk as he brands you. His hand is covering the entire side of your face as he forces you to look at him. To really look at him.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice so deep that it turns you breathless. “All mine. No other man will ever be able to have you, d’you get that?”

You’re nodding fervently, looking like a doll; like a stupid fucking bimbo. “Y-Yeah, I-I got it.”

And he’s absolutely feral; possessive. All messy and wild, his dark hair is sticking to his forehead from all the sweat. He’s staring at you so deeply that your soul is branded with the same yellow as his eyes are before he slams his mouth against your own and kisses you like he’ll never get another chance to do so again.

You can taste the iron on his tongue; cut your own on one of his fangs, and make him all the more hot and bothered as red spills all over his mouth cavity.

He’ll break you like this. The smell and taste of your blood are to blame, no wonder he didn’t say anything.

Your eyes are closed as you kiss, and so are his. You’re both attempting to focus better on the intensifying sensations whilst your tongues twirl around each other and the strings of saliva break and connect. Every time your lips brush, it sparks electricity in your core. He’s literally twitching inside you; all warm and big. And ready. So ready.

“You’re gonna take my knot and make me a daddy, right?” His whisper sends a chill through you as he grabs you and pulls you even closer. Your body is covered in markings of his teeth and claws; you’re going to ache all over in the morning. But it’s worth it when he licks the shell of your ear and hushes, “Gonna keep being a good lil’ mate for me, yeah?”

So this is how he gets when he wants to breed you for real. You can’t believe he’s had the self-control to pull out every single time you’ve had sex for nearly seven months, when he fucks like this. “Yeah,” you answer breathlessly. “Go-Gonna be a good mate, Kiba…! Gonna take your knot.”

Shit, hearing his name during sex is his weak spot. It makes him want to fuck you into the goddamn mattress until there’s nothing left of you to fuck – as if he isn’t doing that already. “Say it again.”

“Gonna take your knot, Ki-... I-I promise!” You’re struggling to breathe properly, holy fuck. “Gonna be a good mate…!”

“Gotta turn you around… Lemme see ‘em heart eyes.” He’s so close. It needs to happen now; his dick is starting to throb and you need to settle into a position that’s more comfortable before it’s too late.

Still, you whine when he pulls out, and you swear that you can feel him getting stuck between your walls for just the briefest moment before that lewd, squelching noise of his dick parting with your pussy sounds out. And then he’s manhandling you into position again; forcing you into something more decent and vanilla with such ease that you’d think he’s mulled this scenario over in his head a million times before.

And then you’re sobbing his name out when he fills you back up in one ruthless swing again and coaxes the third orgasm out of you. As he just stretches you to the brink of pain again and makes you take it with clenched teeth and teary eyes.

“Fuck, fi-fill me up…! Fill me up, please, please, please…”

Your belly is bulging with his dick, and you’re all oxytocin – delicious, mouth-watering oxytocin – as you begin gushing; leaking warm juices of pleasure until your head is lolling back into the pillow and you’re nearly incoherent.

He’s licking the sweat from your neck, biting on your skin and kissing you sloppily as he just keeps rutting, fucking, screwing. Your pussy is sucking him in no matter how much he bullies it. It’s as if it can’t get enough of him and that big dick of his. Just keeps on demanding that wet, rough pat, pat, pat!

He can nearly feel its fucking heartbeat on his dick.

“Fu-Fuck, baby… God-fucking-damn.” Kiba is stuttering – fucking stuttering as your fingers find his ears and begin to stroke whilst tugging on his hair. As lightning surges through his veins and he sinks into place and just spills everything he’s got the moment you cry out his name. As he gets stuck inside you and the knot is forced into place.

The fucking knot. He can feel you clenching around it; walls fluttering like the goddamn butterflies in his stomach as he paints them white with his warm seed. It’s better than anything he’s imagined. He’s fucked you so many times before, but taking you while he’s in this form is not just a delight, but a dream come true. He’s the luckiest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Utterly blessed.

Not even a droplet of cum is leaking out of you; you’re fused together that tightly.

It takes you both long moments to compose yourselves. You spend the passing minutes just bathing in the sticky afterglow and listening to each other’s hearts. You’ve never felt closer to each other. As if your very souls have mended and become one, the feeling is inexplicable.

“Oh, my,” you mumble through shallow breaths at some point, scrubbing both hands over your face. You’re simply exhausted, he’s hit you like a tidal wave. Has taken away the ground beneath your feet, leading you to a higher place. You just can’t seem to bring yourself back, no matter how hard you try. Especially because he’s still inside you. And because of the fact that he’s going to stay like that for a long while. “That was–... A lot.”

“I know,” he says, resting his forehead against your shoulder. His ear flutters the moment your sharp exhale brushes it when you chuckle. “Fuck, I’m sorry; I was so rough… I tried not to be, but some part of me just–...” He pauses, looking up at you underneath thick lashes. “I’m sorry, baby, okay? I’ll answer any questions you have now, since we, well… Have the time, hah.”

“It’s okay, we’ll do that in the morning when I can think straight again.” You’re pleasantly surprised at how tender and protective he is over you already. Nearly purring above you whilst drinking up your approval and inhaling your scent, he reminds you more of a kitty than a wolf. “I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Is all of this,” you gesture all over him, “the reason why you like doggy so much?”

The stare he gives you in answer is so deadpan that it’s hard not to laugh.

“Whaaat?” Caressing his face, you squish both of his cheeks until his lips purse. “What’re you so grumpy for, huh? T’was just a question…”

He’s fighting back a smile of his own as he says, “I wanna break up.”

“Hah!” You snort, the sound derisive. “Turning me into a single mother already?”

A beat of silence passes between you again as he presses his chin to your chest.

“I really hope it’ll stick.” The competitive glint that appears in his eyes when he looks up at you just screams Kiba now. “I wanna give you a mini-me first try.”

“Oh?” You smile, all naughty-like whilst wiggling your brows. “Whatever happened to the kid inheriting my half of the gene pool as well?”

“Well, if it’s a boy, he can have my good looks and your bad taste in music,” he mumbles, chuckling. “And if it’s a girl, she can be a badass like me, and have your shitty cooking skills.”

“Idiot, shitty cooking skills aren’t even hereditary! And it’s not like you’re Gordon Ramsay, or anything…” You’re laughing now, flicking his ear as punishment. “If we weren’t stuck together, I would have beaten your ass by now.”

“You can try it in about,” he says, checking the alarm clock on your nightstand, “an hour, or so. And just so you know, I’ll fold you. Pregnant or not.”

“Yeah?” The smirk that ghosts over your lips is so pretty that it makes his heart jump. “You gonna bite me all over again?”

“You bet.” He’s kissing you right on the mouth as he whispers, “But only ‘cause I love you so much.”

“You know… It’s a good thing you’re a furry and not something nasty, like a zombie or someth– Ouch!” You flinch when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder as punishment, “Okay, okay; I’m sorry for calling you a furry! I won’t do it anymore, promise!”

Kiba is all eye rolls and exasperated sighs at your endless jabs.

“Call me that shit again, and I’ll bite your nose off.”

#kiba #kiba inuzuka #kiba x reader #kiba x you #kiba x y/n #kiba smut #naruto smut #kinktober

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sailtomarina · 8 months

Text

Romantic, If a Bit Macabre

She’d burst from the Floo with all the grace of a forest troll straight into Blaise’s drawing room, interrupting the third round of drinks. Draco had just been in the middle of explaining to Pansy that he was not interested in a blind date with yet another friend of hers—just because he and Hermione had broken up did not mean he was ready to get under someone new.

The littlest of details reminded him of her. A line from a song playing in the background at the pub. A book left along a side table, as if waiting to be picked up and finished. The hint of cinnamon when he walked by their favorite bakery, or wafting up from someone’s hot cocoa. He couldn’t escape her no matter where he went, and the twisted thing was that he had been the one to end things.

He’d pursued her so relentlessly at the start, wooed her into acceptance. Their sex was…there weren’t words to describe that level of compatibility. Once she was his and he was hers, he thought they had obtained their happy ever after. For a while—1 year, 2 months, and 23 days to be exact—that was the truth of it.

Then he had to go and muck it all up by asking her to marry him.

She said no.

That was that. The next day, Ginny showed up at the flat they had shared for half a year and packed up all her belongings. She even took Hermione’s favorite mug, separating it from the paired set to which it belonged.

Hermione’s reasons for refusal were simple in that they defined her. How could he deny her dreams? With her planned career path, she didn’t have time to devote to marriage, didn’t want to change her name, and didn’t want to have children yet. Never mind the fact that Draco had never expected any of those things. He didn’t care about continuing the Malfoy legacy and hadn’t for a long time. All he wanted was to be bound to her in the most intimate of ways.

Now she was here, Floo powder dusting her chunky maroon jumper and a streak of soot across her nose. The curls she’d taken to straightening for work were out in full force the way he preferred and dancing in a halo around her head like a creature possessed. She was breathing heavily as if she’d just sprinted across a field, her cheeks flushed red. Draco thought she’d never looked more lovely.

Hermione took three long strides and grabbed the closest person to her by the collar.

“Wha-what’s going on?” Theo cried, just managing to hand off his whiskey glass to Blaise before stumbling along behind her.

“You’re going to be our witness,” snapped Hermione.

She came to a halt in front of Draco. He couldn’t for the life of him understand what he’d done this time to earn the intensity that emanated from her tiny frame. And why did she need a witness?

“Go on, take out your wand.” She waved at Theo impatiently.

Draco took a sharp breath the instant her eyes turned away, and shrugged at the confused looks his friends sent their way.

“What’s going on, Granger?” He asked quietly. If he was about to die, he wanted to at least know why.

The faintest flicker of something, an emotion he couldn’t place, appeared before she schooled her face back to confidence. “I’m here to remedy a wrong.”

“A wrong,” he repeated.

They stared at one another for an awkward amount of time, likely only a few seconds, but it felt like minutes.

“Can you elaborate?” Did she want him to apologize for proposing?

Hermione took a deep breath and as his eyes scanned her figure, he realized she was gripping the hem of her jumper in a familiar gesture attempting self-control.

That flicker he’d seen earlier was fear.

“I overreacted when you proposed to me. I pushed you away instead of listening.” Her words came out in a single exhale as if they’d been waiting to vomit up from the moment she’d appeared.

He probably should have felt relieved, but all Draco could feel at the moment was numb confusion.

“And how are you going to right overreacting and not listening?” His eyes panned over to Theo, who still stood with his wand held at an awkward angle awaiting instruction.

The unexpected feeling of her hand, so small and warm, taking his own snapped his attention back to her. She stared up at him like she was looking for something. Reassurance? Permission? Draco would give it all to her if only he knew how.

“I just need to know one thing first,” she said, just soft enough to stay between the two of them. In the motion to take his hand, she had stepped close into him. He tried not to greedily gulp in her comforting scent.

His voice came out rougher than intended. “Ask away.”

She continued to stare up at him for a few beats more, blinking heavily and lips parting in the waiting. Draco felt frozen within the amber of her eyes, caught like an insect and helpless to the flow of time.

“Do you still love me?”

He sucked in a deep breath. He’d been holding it in anticipation of her question, and now he felt like the hourglass had turned and the sands were rushing him along towards a yet unknown end.

“Of course I do.”

Hermione nodded as if she’d expected that answer, but the loosening of tension in her jaw revealed her relief. She turned back to Theo. “I need you to be our bonder. Place your wand against our hands.”

Bonder?

“I, Hermione Granger…”

His heart thundered in his ears, nearly drowning her out. “Hermione, you don’t have to—”

“…promise to always listen and communicate.”

“Love, please—”

“I promise to cherish you as you deserve and make time for us. I vow to stay true to my love for you, Draco Malfoy, for as long as you share that love.” She turned to nod at Theo, but before the other wizard could bind the oath, Draco cut in.

“I, Draco Malfoy, will never stand in the way of your dreams.”

“Oh, Draco…”

“I promise to support you in every way I know how to help you achieve them. I vow to match every one of the oaths that you’ve made to me and to love you until my very last breath.”

He willed her to feel his resolution through his gaze and grip. The first time he’d been involved in an Unbreakable Vow had been without his knowledge when his mother had made Severus promise to protect him. Draco knew the consequences of a broken vow. He also knew that he could never, ever break this one.

Tears spilled from her eyes as he continued to hold on to her and the golden threads of their oath wrapped around from wrist to wrist. They might as well have been alone, their friends and surroundings fading into nothingness as the light of their promises glowed all around them. They only saw each other and the hope of the future ahead of them.

“Granger, did you seriously prefer an Unbreakable Vow to waiting for me to set you up with Draco?”

Pansy’s shrill voice broke through the spell, effectively dispersing the tension in the air.

“Well, I thought it was romantic, if a bit macabre,” drawled Blaise. He took a sip from what was probably Theo’s glass, given he held an empty one in his other hand.

Draco still held her hand in his own even though the magic of their vow had faded. She didn’t try to pull away, instead nestling forward as he proceeded to wrap his free arm around her. He peered down at her, a smirk starting to form on his lips.

“You were Pansy’s blind date?”

She snorted into his chest. “Yes, you prat. You shouldn’t have turned her down the past few times. We could’ve resolved this much sooner.”

“You realize accepting would’ve meant me moving on, right?”

This time it was her turn to grin up at him, a knowing glint in her eye. “Yes, but I would’ve pulled you right back to me.”

“You’re a witch.”

“I’m your witch.”

The groans that followed reminded them that no, they were not alone. “Get a room, you two!”

So, they did.

WC 1404

DHR Month Fest Prompt: Week 2 - Bonds, September 10 - Unbreakable Vow

Cross-posted on AO3

Big props to Pansy for helping Hermione try to fix things up with Draco, am I right?

While an Unbreakable Vow might be over the top, I don't think it's too unlike Hermione to do something so extreme given what she was like growing up with Harry. The girl has zero chill.

#dramione month #dramionemonth #dramione #dhr fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy

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kiritella · 7 months

Text

Series: Sehnsucht, Chapter Four: Something More

Pairings: Geralt x Teen!Reader, Yennefer x Teen!Reader

Warnings: low self worth,

Words: 3.6k

————————

—Four Years Ago—

“You’ve gotten more powerful, but it has slowed you down,” Eret’s clear voice broke through the air. “You need to have confidence in your strikes.”

She huffed as she tossed him a glare, pointing the tip of her sword in his direction sharply before repositioning her feet and doing the striking sequence again. This time, she struck the wood firmly.

Eret laughed, a smirk playing on the edges of his lips as he leaned against a boulder. The noise of the camp resonated in the background. She grunted.

“Alright! You’re confident, but your confidence lacks commitment. Do it again.”

Stubbornly, she obeyed, but quicker.

“Keep your eyes up on your target. You don’t need to stare at your blade.”

Again.

“Hands.”

Again.

“Faster.”

Again.

“Don’t forget your breathing.”

Again.

“Perfect,” Eret said with a growing grin, crossing his arms over his chest and covering the flaming rose crest on his garment. “Keep it up and you’ll be the best swordsman around. Do it a few dozen more times and you can be done for the day.”

The young teenager paused, and smiled. Eret took a seat beside the boulder and pulled out a notebook as she prepped again. She shook the soreness out of her muscles, reminding herself of the spell casting a brown illusion over her blue eyes. It was an amusing thought: the best swordsman. It was a rather great exaggeration of her skills. She was a quick learner, to be sure, but it would still take much longer before she was good enough to defend herself against anyone who knew a thing or two about the art. Besides, there were still Witchers in these parts, so the best was out of the question. Not that she would ever say such a scandalous thing in front of the humans.

“Do not forget why you are here,” D’ao whispered in her thoughts. She smiled.

“I haven’t.”

“And the swordsmanship lessons?”

“Payment for showing them around!”

“You could have taken gold.”

“But then I wouldn’t know swordsmanship!”

“You have magic,” D’ao grumbled and she chuckled. He sounded like he was pouting.

“And I am grateful, D’ao, but I would also like to be able to wield more than a dagger,” she said and D’ao huffed. She shook her head with a grin, repeating the striking sequence. “Don’t worry, I won’t forget my magic lessons. And I’ve thought about this. They aren’t going to explore the ancient ruins for another month or so, and if they find anything to do with genies, I’ll be there to take care of it. But since I have time, I might as well learn something from them.”

“The ancient ruins will be dangerous for them, yes, and for us if the rumors about ancient genie history being there are to be believed.”

“If there is history there, I’ll burn it. You know that.”

“I do…”

“So don’t worry so much.”

“It isn't that I am worried…”

“...”

—

She wasn’t wrong. Her swordsmanship training did take months, and as time passed, the Knights of the Flaming Rose grew accustomed to her consistent, silent presence. They did not suspect her even as they hunted those ancient ruins, or how she went in first. Not even when their efforts had been in vain, finding nothing more than charred, unreadable books.

They grew proud when she trained and fought, an amusement coursing through them as she became able to defeat even their swiftest commanders. Perhaps their pride had taken a blow the first few times to have been bested by a teenager, but that quickly morphed into astonishment and legend. After all, it had only been a few months since she had joined their company as a guide, and her success was a testament to their ability to teach. That, and her stubborn determination.

It was still a challenge for her, though, as the time passed. It was a strange sort of existence, to be among, but not a part of them. And still, the strange warmth left within her bones by Yennefer and the Witchers remained unsettled. It stirred in her and craved to be resolved. The feeling could not escape the foreign places those people had touched, and she didn’t know how to feed the craving.

She thought she saw Yennefer sometimes, and her heart would leap into her throat. Geralt would pass her in the street only to be gone the moment her head snapped towards him. And every single time, there was a hollow, painful ache. Because, no, they weren’t there at all. She didn’t even know what she wanted from them, really. They were simply…warm, and she had been bitterly cold her entire life.

The same sensations showed their haunting features when she looked in the mirror and saw the color of her eyes. Brown hiding a monstrous blue. The scars peeked over her shoulders and neck, stretching down her back, marring her from shoulder to waist. The welted ring on her left shoulder. Her brand. It exposed everything she was, and she despised it with cold hatred. She knew what she was, there was no need for such a reminder.

And she knew, once the Knights of the Flaming Rose saw the traces of her birthright on her back, they would know as well, and they would turn on her. They had their orders, after all.

They spoke of her kind around campfires, horror stories passed around as if she was no different than the monsters they slew in the swamps and forests. There was no difference to them, between her and the kikimora and the cockatrice, the ones who slayed entire villages, killers of young girls born at the time of the Conjunction. They tied her name to fear, whether they realized it or not. She wondered what would happen if they discovered that the monster they created in their minds trained with them, washed their trousers, and guided them through the forest of which they had no map? They hunted monsters, what would happen when they found out she was one?

She didn’t stay long enough to find out. The cold ache settled in her bones. She disappeared in the night with a stolen sword and a satchel for her herbs, leaving behind nothing but rumors and twisted truths for anyone who came looking. After all, the truth didn’t matter in the end, and could not stand against preconceived beliefs. She would not wait for them to find her nature carved on her skin so that she could be hunted. She would not let them mount her head on a spike, for she did not want to prove to them the monster they believed her to be. So, the darkness covered her escape, her long-time companions lost to a beautiful past, a pleasant memory, as she chased a cure for the ache in her bones.

After all, even monsters feared things.

Even monsters craved for something more.

—Now—

The next time she woke to the warmth seeping into her skin, a strange cot beneath her back, and the sound of tiny pitter-patters on the floor. She had entertained herself for several minutes by remaining beneath the thick fur that covered her, but then she toyed with the rats. She had just caught one by the tail when the door creaked open.

She froze, rat dangling by its tail and her mouth dropped open as Yennefer showed herself in the doorway. The woman was as unchanged as ever and exactly as she had remembered. Long, beautiful black hair loose about her shoulders, starkly purple eyes and graceful—so very graceful.

“Um…” Yennefer started, her wonderfully wide eyes narrowing at the sight of the rat. She dropped it quickly. It scampered off with a panicked squeak. “I’m Yennefer.”

Ah…yes. It had been years now…of course she wouldn’t remember. The girl swallowed thickly and stood to her feet, offering a short bow of her head in greeting as she whispered her name.

“I came to see how you were doing,” Yennefer said, “And to see if you were hungry.”

She nodded quickly. “I’m fine, and…food in my bag.”

Yenn shook her head, motioning the girl to follow her as she turned. “Nonsense, you’ll have something hot. It’s Ciri’s turn to cook, so it isn’t bad, if a bit bland.”

She followed at Yenn’s heels, still astounded that she was here of all places. She hadn’t thought the sorceress would be hiding amongst the Witchers.

Yennefer led her back to the great hall she had first entered into, and as the other Witchers appeared, she hid a bit more behind the tall woman. Amongst them, though, she could not find a certain familiar face.

“How’s…Geralt?” she asked awkwardly, shuffling on her feet. It would be strange to say they had already met, wouldn’t it?

“He is doing better than yesterday, still unconscious, but doing okay.”

“...yesterday?” she muttered. How long had she slept?

“Yes, it is late morning now.”

“Oh…”

Yennefer sat her down in front of a large plate in the center of the table. It seemed as though it was the one everyone grabbed from. Vesemir sat across from her, Lambert beside him, and Coen next. Yennefer sat beside her and upon seeing the girl’s hesitance, grabbed a biscuit and placed it in front of her.

Her tongue grew heavy in the large company as she nibbled on her bread. It wasn’t exactly quiet, as Witchers—well, she assumed they were all Witchers—communed in the hall. Laughter erupted from the tables behind them now and then, the clank of cups and bottles, easy conversation. An ashen-haired woman sat near her, and while she did not say much, she offered a number of meaningful glances.

“Are you a mage?” Coen asked, trying to lift the thick blanket of awkwardness seated at the table. She nodded hesitantly.

“What kind of spell are you casting right now?” Lambert asked coldly. She almost preferred his bluntness over kindness. It was familiar. She raised a brow. “Our medallions detect magic and monsters, so either you are casting a spell right now, or you are a cleverly disguised beast. And in that case, you aren’t in the best of company.”

“Lambert,” Vesemir scolded, but Sir Ginger was unshaken.

“You could spare to be a little more polite,” Yennefer snapped before turning back to her. “Sorry, he’s just the resident arse.”

Lambert scoffed. Fiddling with her bread, she rubbed the crumbs between her fingers and shifted uncomfortably. Looking back and meeting the resident arse’s eye, she dispelled the illusion. Her eyes shifted, a field of brown morphing into blue seas, like lightning beneath the ocean or trapped within a glazed bottle. Lambert’s medallion ceased its soft tremors.

The Witchers leaned back, a strange look dawning on their faces. She glanced quickly at Yennefer and swallowed thickly. A sliver of hope sparked in her chest as Yenn’s gaze turned thoughtful.

“Illusions,” the ashen-haired girl said, scooting closer. “Hi, I’m Ciri.”

She offered a smile and nodded in greeting.

“Can you do any other kinds of magic?” Ciri asked, but her tone was less accusing than Lambert’s, and more curious.

She nodded, then whispered softly. The medallions began to shake loud enough so even she could hear their hiss. The Witchers stiffened, painfully aware as the air in the room began to shift. Even the tables behind them grew silent and careful. The candles lit upon the table stirred, and the flames went out with a quick gust of wind. The smoke caught and carried in front of them in a long line stretching over the table. The water from Vesemir’s cup rose in a small thread like vein, and dust collected together from the tables and floors. They joined the bit of smoke in a triple helix, and it spun for them in a coordinated display before it dissipated and she ceased. Then she waited.

She waited as her heart pounded violently in her chest and her stomach twisted. Her skin crawled and ate away at her. They were Witchers.

“The Elements,” Yennefer said, and she said it so casually, as if it was nothing more than a comment about the snowstorm raging outside. As if it were unimportant, a mere observation, and not something she had spent a lifetime trying to carve out of her own body. Hidden since—since everything. Startled as if struck dumb, the girl remained silent and stared at the woman in baffled wonder.

She shouldn’t have been so surprised, really, especially since Yennefer was a mage herself. And Geralt hadn’t—

Vesemir softened, and his voice was gentle and quiet. “You will not find trouble with us, child. You are welcome here.”

She faced him when he reached across the table, offering her another handful of bread. It was unsettling, disturbing even, just how much her chest ached as she accepted it from him. You are welcome here. No one spoke further, but their expressions told more than they might have intended to say, especially Vesemir’s.

They had noticed something in her response, apparently. Only, she did not know they could hear just how fast her heart was beating, or see how her fingers twitched anxiously, how her body was coiled and ready to leap from danger should any of them twitch. She didn’t know what they saw in her at that moment, or what sort of reflection she was for them. But, what she did know, was they had yet to draw their swords, or look at her in disdain. She would not turn away a kind eye for all the heartache in the world—especially when they also offered bread and a warm fire in the cold of winter.

“Where are you from?” Yennefer asked.

The girl shrugged and waved her hand in a circle. “Around.”

“What about your parents?” Coen asked.

She grimaced, then shrugged again.

Vesemir raised a brow. “Have you been on your own?” he asked, and she nodded. “How long?”

“Um…” she muttered and looked away, her brow furrowing. She determined the time with the Knights of the Flaming Rose probably didn’t count for much. “Seven.”

“Days?”

“Years.”

“That long?” Coen asked, surprised.

She nodded and they fell grave. She shrugged and offered a smile. Perhaps they would have said more—perhaps she would have spoken more, having at last built the courage—but they were interrupted by another, much more welcomed presence. She jolted in her seat when Geralt’s voice came from the passageway as he entered the room.

“Tell me it isn’t Lambert’s turn to cook,” he grumbled, and his appointed victim scoffed. He was slow, and his steps were shaky, but he was awake and moving about.

“Geralt!” Ciri started, jumping out of her seat and rushing over to him. He accepted her embrace easily, wrapping his arms around the young woman for several moments. They whispered something between them, but her ears couldn’t strain to catch them before they parted.

“It’s good to see you awake,” Vesemir said as they approached.

Geralt hummed and took a seat beside Yennefer. There was a look between them, one a little too long, too intense, to hold the same meaning as the way the others looked at her. The way she leaned into his side and smiled before turning her attention back to the table. It was something more, though she didn’t know what it was exactly. More just felt like the proper word.

Geralt turned toward her now, and a faint smile pulled at his lips. “You made it further than the gap, I’m impressed.”

She chuckled a silent laugh and nodded. Coen rose from the table, walking over to the fire pit at the center of the room where an iron pot hung over the flames.

“How’s your leg?” Geralt asked as he reached for bread. She raised a curious brow. “That old man grazed your leg. I might not have been able to move, but it would have been difficult to remain asleep with all the jolting around.”

“Wait—” Yenn started.

“What happened?” Vesemir asked for her.

“We were attacked upstream of the Lixela. There was a struggle,” Geralt explained briefly before nodding toward her. “Your leg?”

Surprised, she lightly shrugged. “It’s alright.”

“Have you treated it?” he asked and she nodded. “Good.”

“If you’d like, I can take a look at it later,” Yennefer offered, “See if I can heal it.”

She nodded stiffly as Coen returned. He placed a bowl of…of something in front of Geralt, and then another in front of her. Looking up at him curiously, he smiled, motioning to the bowl.

“Eat.”

She bowed her head in thanks, and he nodded. Whatever it was, it smelled absolutely divine. Doing as she was told, she ate, and the moment the strange flavors erupted over her tongue, she hunched over the bowl and ate like a woman starved. She didn’t mind too much how the others watched her, but she didn’t know what was so interesting about her animalistic behavior. Heat crept up her neck as she tried to slow down.

“Where will you go?” Yennefer asked when her bowl was empty, and once more, she shrugged.

“This winter is going to be harsh if a blizzard this early is anything to go by,” Vesemir said. “You’ll have to winter somewhere.”

She shook her head. “The woods are my home. Winter has never changed that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, but with their enhanced hearing, the Witchers heard her well enough. They didn’t seem to like that response very much, and silence followed for several moments. She cringed.

“Speaking of it…thank you for the food. I should gather my things…” she said and stood, her body resisting. Vesemir spoke before the others were able, keeping her from walking away.

“Stay,” he insisted. “At least until the storm passes over. It would mean death to leave in the midst of it. As I said, you are welcome here. Have no rush to leave.”

Something in her chest melted, like molten stone, and heated her up from within. She swallowed back the thickening knot in her throat as she flicked her eyes from Vesemir to Yenn and Geralt. Her winter-cracked hands gripped at the tattered ends of her shirt tightly.

Bowing her head low, she cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

Another silence followed, but shorter than the last and broken by Yennefer standing. “Come,” she said, her hand brushing over Geralt’s shoulders as she passed behind him. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her out of the hall. “While you are here, the least we can do is help get you cleaned up.”

—

It was in these efforts of “cleaning up” that she found herself standing awkwardly in the corner as Yennefer poured a bit of heated water into a wooden tub. The room was rather dark, lit by the fireplace and a couple of candles. Heavy curtains draped over the windows, blocking out any daylight, and with it, the cold. It smelled nice too, like lilacs and…and something fruity. It was a comfortable sort of space, calm.

Two chairs rested by a small round table, a fur draped over its back. A book of sorts, a ribbon, a gown. It was soft, in a way, as if Yennefer had somehow captured the feeling of the early morning sun shining between spring leaves in a bottle and let it loose in the room. It resembled Yennefer deeply. It was as if the room was her own as Yenn sat on the edge of the tub and dipped her hand into the water. As if the room embraced her in the same way she embraced it.

Yenn smiled, motioning her to come away from the door where she had stood the entire time. “It’s alright, come here. The water is ready.”

Hesitantly, the girl approached and Yennefer stood. She walked with so much grace the girl looked away, as if by simply watching her, she would somehow stain the woman.

“Shall I leave?” Yennefer asked, and her head shot up nearly as quickly as she shook it. Something more resided in the room, and she feared that if Yenn were to leave, that feeling would go with her. That warm golden sunlight would follow her out of the room and she would be left with the dying embers of the fireplace—candle smoke lost by her very breath.

“Alright,” Yenn said and careful, as if she were reaching out to a frightened animal, rested a hand on the girl’s arm. “Then why don’t we get you out of these?”

Unsure, the girl nodded. It wasn’t as though she actually needed help getting out of her garments, but there was something so gentle in the way Yennefer’s hand touched her skin and helped her. Something so careful, as if she were delicate.

Nothing about her was delicate, she thought. Her skin was dry and cracked, her hands and feet calloused, and dirt was so well buried beneath her nails, she wouldn’t be surprised if she was growing moss. She did not speak gracefully or walk straight and posed like Yennefer. And her back—well, that might as well have been beaten leather. She screamed like a madwoman and bared her teeth like an animal. She was the furthest thing from delicate. And yet…the way Yennefer helped her left her wondering.

She jumped at the sudden gasp Yennefer took. That soft, lingering touch traced along her bare back, trailed over the sharp, welted lines leading from her shoulders to her lower back, from her sides to her spine. They brushed over the ring on her left shoulder, traced the “W” branded into her skin. Embarrassment crawled up the girl’s neck and ignited her cheeks. She did not raise her head when Yennefer turned her around to face her, too consumed with the burning behind her eyes.

“It’s you,” Yennefer whispered, and something within the child fell apart.

She’d remembered.

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